All good things
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: Post Cops and Robbers. Maybe it was his Mother sitting next to him on the cold Bank floor, it could be the knowledge that his daughter was waiting outside the entire time. Somehow he thinks it's more to do with the woman curled up on his couch like she belongs there...
1. Cops and Robbers

**A/N:** Me: Jessie, which episode of Castle is your favorite?

Jessie: Cops and Robbers.

Me: MWAHAHAHAH!

Happy Birthday my lovely friend, I hope your day is full of joy, happiness and love, exactly as you deserve. Massive koala hugs!

* * *

She sits on the couch, the wine glass nearly empty and her feet tucked up underneath her. He feels like he's been staring for a while, maybe a little more than is usually acceptable, but the sight before him is mesmerizing.

Loose curls spill around her face and laughter bubbles up at something his daughter says, a hand pressing at her lips to trap the sound away, as if she's not sure she should. Not sure if Alexis is joking or not. Then Beckett pouts and reaches for Alexis' hand, pats the flat of her palm across his daughters knuckles before sitting back with a firm nod.

He thinks she might be comforting? Cajoling, maybe even teasing her about the break up. Whatever it is that is transpiring in his living room it feels like a miracle, a gift of sorts to be able to stand here and witness, to be alive and - he rubs his forehead - he might be a little overly emotional.

It's just this time felt too close to the mark, too real. Not that they haven't faced down more scary things before, more catastrophic events have marred their lives. Bombs, serial killers, being held hostage and Beckett being shot. But there is something about this that makes him shiver.

Maybe it was his Mother sitting next to him on the cold bank floor, it could be the knowledge that his daughter was waiting outside the entire time.

Somehow he thinks it's more to do with the woman curled up on his couch like she belongs there, chatting with his kid like she's done it for years and waving her wine glass at him like he should know better than to let it run dry.

It was the look on her face when she walked into the bank, squeezed his hand and swore to get him out. Their barely sub-textual conversation and her gentle voice still echo around his mind, the quiver and raw ache of desperation thuds at the insides of his skull like a constant reminder.

If he closed his eyes right now all he would see is her smile. When he slips into bed tonight and lets himself be consumed by darkness, her face will be plastered across the obsidian blur.

Her eyes and that..._that_ smile.

A projection of beauty, shining down from above as he stares up, the vividity of the images she will evoke keeping him up until the wee hours. Maybe even more so than normal.

But she's still waving her glass, watching him with such curiosity that he clambers off the stool and - catching the roll of her eyes when he reaches for the bottle - misses the neck. His fingertips knock it backwards instead and he just manages to catch it and stop it falling.

He crosses the room slowly, knowing her eyes are on him the whole way. Her head tilts and the corner of her lip lifts. If she bites down on it he's going to drop the bottle.

Beckett uncrosses her leg,s raising to meet him halfway, and Castle shakes his head, wouldn't move her for the world, and instead he catches at the raised glass she offers him. Their fingertips meet, wrapping around to touch lightly and her thumb remains on the stem as she holds it steady.

He blinks at her, staring down as she looks up, and all he can see is the smile on her face, he can almost feel her hands on his shirt again.

Unable to resist, he holds her hand and his thumb drifts along the edge of her own, he caresses her hand tentatively, keeping her still as he refills her glass - even though he feels like he might be the one shaking - and smiling when she mouths 'Thank you.'

He watches the crimson rush of alcohol spill between their fingers and paint color on their skin. Stained Glass flecks of red against her palm that sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, making the saliva run dry at the thought of licking that stain from her fingers.

Her eyes dart back to kitchen. Oh...oh she's talking to his kid and she wants -they want?- privacy. He gives up her hand reluctantly, watches as she settles the glass in her lap and her own fingers trace across the skin he was just touching.

He tips his head in gentlemanly salute and electric tingles zip lightning fast under skin when it earns him another smile. He wants to keep this woman here, this softer version of his partner, this light as air Beckett who smiles and puts the sun to shame.

He drifts back to the kitchen, finds his seat and picks up right where he left off, staring. He stares and doesn't care if it could be considered creepy, he's not really sure it could be when the thing you stare at is the most beautiful sight imaginable.

"All good things, my boy."

He starts, almost jumping out of his skin and just catches the wine glass before it flies off the counter.

They look up from the couch and smile at him before diving straight back into conversation.

Castle turns to face his mother with a look of annoyance for shattering his facade of nonchalant staring, for breaking his cover, but confronted by the soft and tender gaze, turned not on himself but on the woman soothing his daughters dented heart, he finds he can do nothing but smile.

"Worth the wait." He replies quietly, almost to himself, "Worth the hope."

"Oh, more than hope." Martha moves around him, tipping her glass towards the living room, "That is a woman in love."

"Mother." He shakes his head, hope is one thing but throwing out words like love when she's so near...it feels like a jinx? No, more than that, testing fate and poking at something he shouldn't be...something growing and new and unnameable just yet.

"Come now, Richard." Martha interrupts before he can begin again, "You saw the look on her face as clearly as I did." She pats his cheek, pulls the wine bottle from his fingers, "When she found you in the bank she positively shone with it."

He _could _ gape, perhaps he should for dramatic effect, for his mother's benefit, just to see that spark of mischief in her eyes.

Yes, he saw the look, he bore witness to the smile that broke her face apart and made her eyes these great luminescent orbs of truth. His mother is not wrong, she did shine with it, head to toe it radiated from her, and he felt the tightening of Beckett's fingers in his jacket, the way she clung to him and asked him how he was. He heard the sheer relief in her voice, the tender and surprising tone.

And yes, he _could _gape in shock at the knowledge that his mother saw it too, saw it and interrupted anyway. He could, but he won't.

"Why?" He asks instead, swiveling in his seat to study her face.

Her eyes widen for a moment as if she's going to deliberately misunderstand, then she smiles. "I used to be a supple, nubile young thing." She ignores the way he gulps and presses a hand to his mouth, "Alas no more and time makes fools of us all. Sitting on a cold Bank floor with a my wrists tied is _not _ the thrill I would have thought." She grins at him, "And really, you should be thanking me."

"For what?" Castle splutters.

"A hostage situation giving rise to a desperate declaration of feelings, a stolen moment," She leans closer, "Perhaps even a kiss?"

He nods, she groans.

"How cliche." Martha rolls her eyes and pats his hand again, the least comforting gesture given the look on her face. She throws up her hand and wiggles her fingers towards the living room, "But now look, she's here. And, if I'm not mistaken, she's looking to leave quite soon, unless you give her a reason to stay?"

Castle swings the chair back around wildly, his eyes darting across the room to the movement of his daughter as she stands, Beckett at her back slipping her shoes back on.

Martha chuckles, "Or perhaps you should give her a reason to come back. Offer to walk her out, drive her home? She has been drinking after all."

"So have I." He states quietly, regretfully.

"Then call the girl a cab." Martha gives him a little shove across the backside, making him slip from the stool and stumble forwards.

"Smooth Dad." Alexis groans as she lifts up and kisses his cheek, disappearing fast. He watches her meander up the stairs before he turns his attention back to Beckett.

She holds out her wine glass but turns on the spot before he can take it. "I, er...had a coat?" She grimaces and smiles at herself, half spins back the other way searching his home for her jacket.

"It's on the chair, you kinda threw it there when we were debating..."

"Which of us had saved the other more."

He smiles, snags the wine glass from her fingers and heads back towards the kitchen knowing she'll follow - to retrieve her coat if nothing else - and he can't resist calling over his shoulder. "Math doesn't lie."

"No, but writers do." She grins when he gasps, doesn't move towards the table but lingers across the counter watching him clean up.

"We do not."

"Remember who you're talking to, I have read Nikki. I know the truth and lies and the fudged inbetweens."

"That's not lying." Castle scoffs, pointing towards the coffee maker in hope and trying to hide his disappointment when she shakes her head. "That is artistic license."

"Is that the same artistic license that allows you to help-" she air quotes the word, "with paperwork, by running out for donuts every time?"

"Once, I did that once."

She raises one single, perfectly arched eyebrow in defiance of that statement.

"Second time was for Bear Claws." He grumbles. "Keeping the boys in sugar."

"Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that."

"I got coffee for you too."

She shakes her head, "Yes, to avoid paperwork."

"You will _not _ let that go, will you?" His hands land on his hips and she smiles at him again. Wide open, like a gust of wind has blown away all of her defenses, maybe the bank exploding blew them to smithereens.

Castle finds himself fascinated by her tongue when it pokes through her teeth, by the wave of curls that fall forwards and spill over her shoulder, the silken tumble drawing his eyes from her face down, down to her hands where they sit clasped together. Mesmerized by her, fascinated by the everything of who she is.

"I already agreed you were the perfect partner, I can't let it go to your head." She laughs and pushes up from the counter, hands drumming quickly before she's turning again for her coat.

He steps forwards and hesitates, wondering if he can get away with holding it up for her so she can slip her arms through the sleeves, but she changes direction, loops it over her arm instead and pauses.

Like she's waiting for him?

Beckett glances back over her shoulder and then towards the door. He's not sure if it is supposed to be a silent request that he walk her out, but he takes it as one, trailing after her and meeting her at the table.

They cross the remaining distance together, both casting sly glances at the other, both aware of what the other is doing and he thinks he catches her smirk. They move in sync and something about that, the soft rhythmic shuffle of their feet in time, makes him smile and when they get to the door they both reach for the handle.

They even mirror each other in turning at the same moment, he wants to laugh, it's almost comical. But their fingers tangle and, though he expects her to pull away immediately, Beckett squeezes his hand and looks up at him, less severe heels setting her just that little bit lower than usual.

"I really am glad you're okay." She breathes, wine and candlelight flickering through her pupils, catching at the iris and tangling them together. He can see his own reflection in that beautiful twist of bottle green and hazelnut, and Castle squeezes back, the warmth of her fingers almost unknown within his own.

"Me too."

"Touch and go there for a while." She quivers, and if it wasn't for the tight grip on his hand he thinks he might have missed it. She holds herself so rigid that to the naked eye it's barely visible, but as he touches her skin he feels it again, the eerie ripple that shudders over her.

Castle shakes his head, "No way. I said from the first moment we sat down as hostages, you'd get me out. You'd get us _all_ out."

She steps closer, inhales and looks up like she doesn't believe him, "Really?"

His thumb sweeps the back of her hand, "Mmhmm. Faith Beckett, total faith."

"You have a lot of that." She sounds unsteady, like maybe she's asking something else entirely, and the hand not holding his fists itself back in the material of his shirt, throwing them both back in time.

Back to the floor of the bank, back to _"How are you?"_ and desperation and the smoking remnants of _"It could be too late, please god don't let it be too late."_

"In you? Always." He smiles, his voice pulling them both into the present and her fingers loosen. The palm of her hand smooths over his shirt instead of gripping it tight and Beckett lifts herself up onto her toes, bringing them closer, almost nose to nose and she meets his eyes.

Like the slow reveal of a Christmas present or the discovery of a revelation she opens herself up to him and for a few seconds he forgets to breathe, wondering if her lips will meet his own. She's close enough to just reach out and pull her into him. To hold her. To kiss her. But somehow he restrains himself; letting the thunder of his heart beat rage between them instead and waiting for her to make the next move.

She smiles slowly, "Thank you."

He shakes his head, at a loss for words until he remembers what she said when she handed him his wine earlier, and he throws the words back at her casually, watching her eyes light up when he does, "No need. We're partners."

"It's what we do." They finish together.

She sways, blinking slowly."Dinner was..."

"Mother's idea." Castle regrets the words immediately, seeing how her smile falls, "I mean, she thought inviting you to dinner was more fitting than me just bringing you back here to get drunk." He rushes through the words and before he can catch any of them, stop them leaving his mouth or even think about what he's just said she's laughing at him.

Her eyebrows are high and her eyes are wide, but she's laughing at him again, and Castle thinks he can take absolutely anything she throws at him if she just smiles like that more often.

"You wanted to bring me home and get me drunk, Castle?"

"I...er...you said 'Old Haunt' and ...well yeah."

She drops back down in front of him, her hand over his heart as she pats his chest and pushes away, "We did have one hell of a day." She concedes.

He nods quickly, grabbing her agreement and running with it. "That we did."

"And dinner was-"

"A sign of appreciation for saving our lives." Castle shrugs like it's nothing, knowing full well it's everything.

Her head dips, wavy strands of hair falling around her face and hiding her from him. He waits, but she remains silent and the longer she stands there, her head lowered and barely moving, the more he starts to worry he's said the wrong thing. Maybe not given enough magnitude to his appreciation, his awe at the things she does, the way she works, how tirelessly she seeks to bring everyone home safely.

Castle shifts awkwardly in front of her and is just about to reach out and touch her when she lifts her head. There is a new smile now, one of daring, one of fear, one he hasn't seen before but yet again it leaves him fascinated.

"That mean I owe you nine dinners, Castle?"

He opens his mouth, but she steps back, reaching for the door. "I..."

"How about we start with one? Tomorrow night, my place." She tugs at her coat in his arms and he's not sure when he wound up holding it, how or why he still has it now but Castle suddenly feels reluctant to let it go.

"You stealing it?" She grins, yanking it from his hand.

"No, I've had enough of playing Cops and Robbers for one day." Castle holds the door open for her, waiting for Beckett to step around him. Instead she leans in just a little bit closer and freezes him to the spot with her throaty whisper.

"You haven't played with me, yet."


	2. The first dinner

**A/N:** Birthday salutations part two for Jessie! Who has hopefully forgiven me for the birthday spam? Seriously, there was a lot of it, it may have bordered on stalking. Luckily she's weird and she likes that :D

I've been persuaded to make this a little longer than I intended thanks to your kind words, lovely reviews, tweets, alerts and favorites. I've had an inbox full of happiness...which sounds dirtier than I meant it to...Thank you so much!

* * *

She's been quiet all day, dark twists of hair tumbling over her shoulder, white shirt buttoned high and he observes her with something like fear? Trepidation might be more accurate, worry definitely. Castle spends the day wondering if she's planning on pulling out of her offer.

Dinner, at her place, and every time he remembers her invitation from the night before, "Let's start with one" his heart picks up the pace and practically throws itself against his ribs.

That one could lead to nine, one for each of the times he's saved her life, but right now he'd willingly settle for half an hour lunch, and some alone time. Some time to sit quietly together, sharing space as he gets up the courage to ask her outright.

He's been trying not to get his hopes up too high all day, knowing an excuse or a genuine case related reschedule could come any minute, but her invitation still has him walking on air and if Beckett changes her mind - for whatever reason - his heart will take a tumble no matter what he tells himself in advance.

He watches her chew on her lip and he knows it means something and he probably should know what that something is but lately she's different? More open? It's not the tease, they have always had that, a flare of tension, a give and take. It's more that she's the one stepping closer, or not stepping back. She holds his gaze rather than breaking eye contact, it's a hundred small things that to anyone else would seem insignificant. It's hard to define...pfft, she's hard to define.

Mysterious to the core.

The noise of the precinct slowly evaporates around them as he watches her eyes narrow, a little groove of tension running between the brows and Castle swallows past the dryness in his mouth. He's got to just go for it and ask. He sits up, straightens his shoulders, "So.." He begins, and her head snaps up like she had forgotten he was there. Not the best start.

She takes a few seconds, tucks her hair behind her ears and reaches for the luke warm mug in front of her. "So?"

She doesn't look up and he tries not to feel disappointed, forging ahead, "Are we-?"

"Can I ask you a question?" Beckett blurts, her eyes snapping immediately to study his face. The detective deduction that electrifies her iris looking almost out of place when mixed with the soft expression that paints her features. Almost but not quite.

She treads a fine line of balance with ballerina poise and grace. Hard lines and harsh voice melding with gentle eyes, quivering touches and teasing tones. She's multi faceted, multi dimensional and every new little bit he gets a glimpse at makes him crave more.

He doesn't mind digging deep, he truly doesn't, but when she offers up little pieces of herself to him it feels like a gift. Like her smile in the Bank. Happiness magnified and lighting up the dark.

Her eyes bore into him and Castle can feel it, feel the power of her stare as she waits for him to answer and he nods, "Sure."

She swallows, pushes aside the cup and leans towards him, "Are you allergic to anything?"

He's not exactly sure what his face does, but it's clearly not what she was expecting, to be fair neither was her question, and his mouth opens in wonder before he grins.

"It's not funny."

"It's not." He agrees, "I mean I'm not, not allergic to anything, I don't think." He leans back into her, feeling more confident now, or at least hoping her question is going to give him reason to. "Why?"

"I...well dinner." She shrugs, "I just wanted to check."

"Worried you'll give me food poisoning?" He laughs.

She tips towards him again, a little lift of her lips giving light to a smile, "I just don't want you to swell up like a Blowfish if I feed you the wrong thing."

It's the 'feed you' part of the sentence that wipes his brain clear of coherent thought. The images of her fingers lifting something sweet towards his mouth, the soft pad of her thumb slipping between his lips so he can bite down and taste...

"I got a rash from a Kiwi fruit salad once." He suddenly remembers, huffing in surprise as the words just jump straight out of his mouth, then he shakes his head remembering it doesn't count, "I get the same rash when I wear the wrong shorts to go jogging- you don't need to know that...ahemm-" He clears his throat and sits straighter, suddenly devoted to straightening his tie.

When he does look up Beckett's biting her lip, trying not to laugh. "So no Kiwi and...no jogging." She makes this face, her eyes popping wide and her lips pursing like what he just said is perfectly normally and as she assesses it, she can work with it. Then that devious grin reappears.

"I think it's like heat rash." He stammers and she gives in and laughs, loud and startling and tinkling like windchimes in a summer breeze. Ugh, and he's pretty sure that thought was so obvious in his eyes, staring at her openly, that Beckett's seen it all.

She makes this noise, kind of a giggle only much more throaty, more intimate and then she sighs, "Can't take the _heat_, Castle. You'll have to stay out of my _kitchen_." She leers - he thinks, it looks like a leer - rolling the words around her tongue and leaning across the desk, her chin dropping into her palm.

He swallows, dives in, "So we're still-?"

"Yes, unless you don't-?"

"No, no I do. What time do you-?

"Good, so shall we say seven-?

They interrupt each other until they both fall silent and she smiles, not quite full on bank heist knock your socks off, but something softer, sweeter and she lifts bodily. Everything in her upright, lighter and oh...

Castle feels the warmth of her gaze this time, like a caress over his skin, a sideways cut of her eyes that is somehow shy and enticing at the same time, and he realizes she's been thinking about it, that maybe she has been as nervous as he has, that dinner has been on her mind just as much as his.

He feels another flutter of hope hot through his chest, and he smiles back.

* * *

He's early. Really early and the short hall outside her apartment door means he can't pace quite as contentedly as he wants to. She invited him to dinner and he should knock and go in but he's almost bouncing on the spot with nervous energy and he's early, _really_ early.

He didn't bring flowers, not sure if that was appropriate. Flowers have a weird connotation with their relationship, he tends to bring them in time of crisis and this...this is not that, but he did bring wine. Really good wine, both white and red because she never actually said what she was making.

He meets the end of her hallway and counts to ten before he starts to pace back again, slow deliberate steps that barely echo but each one feels like he's taking a step towards something life changing.

He's taking a step towards Beckett, because as he reels around he finds himself staring at her as she stares at him. One eyebrow arches high, one single lone eyebrow interrogating him with a myriad of questions about why he's standing out here when he could just knock and come inside.

Her hands are on her hips and her feet are spread, she makes quite a threatening picture until he notices, "You're wearing an apron?" He laughs, chuckling under his breath and pointing.

It's white, simple, the long ties looping twice around her narrow waist and knotting across her abdomen. It's very Head Chef. He likes it, likes the spatters and stains across the front of it that give away the fact she's actually cooking.

He likes the simplicity of the pearly grey t-shirt and the sweet familiarity of dark denim. The sweep of her hair, the glare of her eyes.

Beckett clears her throat, taps her foot and Castle's head snaps up like he's been caught looking down her top instead of admiring her from afar. "You've been pacing for twenty minutes, were you _ever_ going to knock?"

"You _knew _ I was out here?"

She gives him a look, yes, definitely a look and of course she knew he was out here. She always knows.

Beckett rolls her eyes but softens the harshness of the action with a smile, turning on her heel, "You coming in, Castle?"

* * *

"Beckett, that is a lot of food." He surveys her dining table, his eyes wide in appreciation at the vast spread she has laid out. His stomach ripples when he catches the scent of the dish in her hand. It smells divine and suddenly he's starving.

"I decided to take a leaf out of your Mom's book." She grins, pushing the serving spoons deeper into the salad bowl. "Facing death demands celebrating life." Her smile widens when his eyes flick down to her glass and he pretends to tug it out of her hand.

"Beckett, I think you've had too much to drink. You just started quoting my Mother."

She laughs and pulls the glass back from his fingers with a pout. Beckett glances at him slyly and takes a long, slow sip, "_Mmm-ing_" her way through it with such appreciation that he almost feels the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his own veins in response.

Castle clears his throat, tries to avert his eyes but finds it impossible not to watch her in the muted light of her dining room. "You do realize we face death a lot."

She takes her time and quietly regards his statement, blinking languidly at him across the table. Her chest rises and stills, holding a breath trapped before she lets it out on a rush and raises her glass to him in a toast. "Then, to celebrating life. A lot."

There is something about the way she says it that catches him off guard, want or anticipation in her tone and her cheeks lift slowly, almost shyly again as if she's not sure how he will react. The wine remains steady in her hand and she smiles, waits him out until his own rises in response.

He clinks the edge of her glass and can't help but smile back.

* * *

She made lasagna and it's delicious. It's huge and there will be leftovers enough to feed half of the precinct if he doesn't successfully convince her to let him take them home with him. Her entire apartment smells like warm baked bread and garlic and cheese and he could quite happily curl up here forever.

She's watching him chew thoughtfully, he can feel her eyes on him again as he assesses the flavors with each mouthful and it takes him a few moments of enjoying the burst of ripe tomatoes mixed with - is it nutmeg? - before he realizes she has set down her fork and is staring at him in amusement.

"What?" He asks, casting aside manners, loathe to stop chewing but unable to wait until he's swallowed when she's looking at him like that.

"Could you just _eat _ it?" She laughs, "I feel like I'm waiting for you to break the meal down by individual ingredient and give me a score out of ten." She nudges at his arm with her elbow, "It's just dinner, eat it."

"Ten!" He nods, "And I'm appreciating it." Castle swallows, savors the last zing of something lemony she mixed in with the salad before pointing down to his plate, "Definitely a ten."

Beckett shakes her head, "That's sweet, but it _can't_ be a ten, Castle."

"It really can, have you tasted this?" He holds out the fork, a little salad on the end almost like an invitation and she laughs again.

"Yes I have."

"What's that lemony taste?"

"Lemon."

He looks up from the rainbow of his plate and she's mocking him surely, "Really?"

"Yes, just lemon. So, see, not a ten."

He starts to disagree, plead his case, "I-"

"Castle." Beckett says softly, lifting her wine glass to her lips again, "If it's a ten I have nowhere to go after this meal and Lasagna _cannot_ be my signature dish."

"It's really _good _ Lasagna. Did you make the sauce yourself?

Her eyes twinkle, "Yes."

"Did you scald the milk?" He raises an eyebrow like it's a test and she leans in a little closer.

"I even made the roux from scratch."

He watches her unconsciously lick her lips and he nods, "Impressive."

"Still not a ten."

Castle scoops up another forkful, chews, savors and swallows, taking his time nonetheless. "On second thoughts I think you're right, not a ten."

She smiles, setting down her glass and reaching for her own fork.

"I'd give it a six."

"What?" She barks at him, sitting up and pulling away when he laughs. Beckett grabs at the utensil and stabs violently at his plate, stealing a morsel of his food.

"Hey, eat your own."

She glares when he swipes at her retreating fork with his, but too late and she's pushing it between her lips. She withdraws the metal prongs slowly, sets it down and chews. "It's not a ten, but it's so not a _six_ either." She finally concedes.

The flash of red on her cheeks and the protectiveness she has over her creation simmer hotly under his skin and he just can't resist, "Not a ten but it's something to work towards."

Castle just manages to move his leg out of the way when she growls and tries to kick him under the table.

* * *

"How many times did your life need saving before you met me?" She asks quietly.

They've moved to the couch, dinner eaten, wine in hand and something soft and jazzy now plays so low in the background that he can barely hear it. He senses she's asking a question that could take them down a road he's not sure he wants to travel when they are having such a nice time.

It's easy in a way he didn't expect and he doesn't want to spoil it.

"Twice." Castle states truthfully, "Both times my own fault."

"I'm guessing you weren't being held hostage though." Beckett swirls the wine in her glass but doesn't look up. "Or shot at."

"Not unless you count Alexis mid tantrum and playing laser tag, things can get vicious."

She shakes her head.

"Didn't think so." He sits forwards, "The bank thing had nothing to do with knowing you. More to do with knowing my Mother and being in the wrong place at the wrong time." He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

"Er, Castle, what do you think you're doing?" Her eyes are wide once more and he laughs, happy that at least she's looking at him again.

"It wasn't life or death but I do have a scar." He pulls down the edge of his dark blue shirt, revealing an almost circular freckle marring the skin just under his collar bone. It's slightly darker in color to the rest of his skin tone and she squints to see it, "Fencing practice with Alexis, I told you she can be vicious."

"She stabbed you?" Beckett leans forwards, her hand extending like she's going touch him, trace her fingers over the pinprick scar, but she pulls back suddenly. "Want me to arrest her?"

Castle nods sagely, pleased when she laughs and lightens, the mood lifting with her, "She does have it coming."

* * *

For a little while they lapse into comfortable silence and the calming music filters into the gaps in conversation with ease.

Castle watches her foot bob in time to the slow base beat, sees her fingers mimic a sudden trumpet blare on the stem of her wine glass and clearly whatever is playing is one of her favorites.

She tangles her fingers through the loose strands of her hair in time, weaving and wandering through the tendrils with a gentle calm that emanates from her so strongly Castle finds himself sinking deeper into the couch, until his head is resting back and there is nothing but her and the music.

Beckett catches at her hair again and twists it behind her ear, grinning when she realizes he's been watching her the whole time, but she doesn't speak. Instead she lifts her foot from the floor, pulls her knee up and drops her head to the side, mirroring him exactly.

They don't break eye contact for a long moment, steady blinking blue meeting warm mellow green. She gets lost in the music, tangled in the rhythm and the longer it plays, the longer the silence lasts, the more she pulls him in with her.

* * *

He glances at his watch, eyes widening when he realizes it's nearly midnight. It feels like he's only been in her apartment a matter of seconds, minutes maybe, but they've spent the best part of five hours together.

"It's getting late." Castle comments and he can't keep the disappointment from his voice. "I should be going." He stands slowly, feeling the creak in the knees and it's only once he's fully upright that he notices she hasn't moved.

Her body is completely relaxed, the most at ease he has ever seen her, turned into the comfort of the couch and reveling in it. Her fingers are clasped together under her chin and her head is tilted to one side, liquid chocolate swirling through her eyes as she watches him thoughtfully.

Her smile is crooked, loose and beautiful. Castle could quite happily sink back down next to her but she sighs, curls her toes and gets up. She stretches out her legs, lifts her arms high above her head and arches her back.

She unfurls like a cat after a nap, holding his rapt attention and there is no way he is staring anything _but_ creepily and he knows she knows it too. Beckett casts him a sideways glance, and holds out her hand for his wine glass, depositing it next to hers on the coffee table when he gives it up.

"So, next case we solve, we do this again?"

He thinks his knees might give out and he almost barks his response, "Really?"

Her eyes narrow, darkness flickering through them in the best way, they flash at him in warning, it's sexy. "Unless you're about to tell me you miscalculated or _exaggerated _ the amount of times you've saved my life."

"Nope, definitely nine."

She nods, smirks and holds out her arm for him to walk ahead of her to the door. "Then, I still owe you eight dinners. Next case we solve, same time same place? I can't promise I'll cook."

"But I promise I'll be here." He grins when her cheeks flush and it gives him a little confidence boost he hadn't even noticed he needed. He's still being tentative when she's stepping in, stepping up, and this would be the perfect time for them to meet in the middle.

"I had fun tonight, Castle." She ducks her head and extends her hand, reaching for the door to let him out but he steps in front and claims it instead, clasping her hand in his and stepping in close.

He can feel the heat radiate under her skin, the warmth of her blood rush just below the surface where their palms kiss. He can feel the thud of her pulse, beating against his own and he can smell the twist of ripe fruit and alcohol on her breath. She's intoxicating.

For a moment he considers kissing her cheek, but he changes direction at the last second, his lips brushing her ear instead, "Me too, Kate." He feels her inhale at the intimacy of the use of her first name. He floods the word with the truth of his statement because he wouldn't have been anywhere else.

She swallows, her throat bobs drawing his eyes to the line of her neck, the stretch of skin exposed by the vee of her shirt and her fingers quiver just shy of his wrist. "Until next time?" She lifts her eyes, unsure beauty shimmering in the darkness.

He lets go, thumb brushing her knuckles as he does, and Castle steps through the door. He turns immediately on the spot and breathes his promise quietly, "Until tomorrow."


	3. Heartbreak Hotel

His head is pounding and he groans when his fist collides with her door, the knocks reverberating through his skull. He checks his watch again, he's late but that's why he has the cookies, an apology for tardiness and for abandoning her to Gates for the last few days to party with the boys in Atlantic City.

He's only fifteen minutes later than they agreed, mainly because he fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down next to his daughter on the couch, and he's positive he's missing something about the girls sketchy behavior, a few ornaments too judging by the gaps on his bookcase. But it can wait, and letting Alexis stew as she wonders if he knows she threw a party will be more fun than watching her ground herself.

He knocks again, braces for the pain and is so very grateful he brought cookies and not wine because the thought of more alcohol turns his stomach and Beckett is cooking. Castle wants to be able to eat her food, enjoy it and savor it, without grimacing his way through every mouthful.

His head settles to a dull thud and that's good, he can cope with that and he hopes his face looks appropriately apologetic when Beckett finally opens the door.

"Castle?"

He really does like the way she says his name when she's relaxed, or in this case a bit surprised. More S than T so it comes out, "_Casssle_." And he wonders for a second if he might still be drunk- not just hungover- really hopes he didn't say that out loud and looks up to find her watching him.

"Hi."

She smirks, taking in his dark glasses and the way his body lists into her door frame. "You look like you could use some coffee," She squints, "Or I.V fluids. Are you- you're not going to throw up, right?"

He laughs at how disgusted she looks, pushing the glasses to the tip of his nose and peering at her over the rims, "No. I promise, just a headache, but that coffee does sound good."

She gives him an all over appraisal, head to toe in disbelief, "You sure? We could postpone if you're not-"

He hears the soft wave of disappointment she can't quite keep out of her words and he interrupts with a smile, "I'm sure." He holds up the bag of cookies, "I even brought dessert."

* * *

He watches her potter around her kitchen, setting himself up on the other side of the counter, resting his head in his hands and taking off the glasses. The room isn't as bright as it was when he walked in, almost as soon as he set foot inside and started to squint she dimmed the lights and he's grateful that he won't have to sit with shades on for the rest of the meal.

Beckett pushes the mug towards him, along with a glass of water, then steps back and folds her arms across her chest. "So, how was it?" Her eyes twinkle but she doesn't smile, waiting for the story of Ryan's impromptu bachelor party.

He smiles, thinking back, and enjoys the images of Show-Girls and the memory of good Scotch and the thick burn it left at the back of his throat, Espo's dancing and Ryan's pink face at every dirty joke. He remembers the Irish detective throwing out a few of his own and watching his partner snort and choke on his drink in shock.

The happy, slightly blurry images flicker their way through his memory and Castle opens his mouth to regale her with every little detail but she stops him.

"Okay," She holds up her hand in front of his face and he realizes she's been staring at him, "I don't want to know." She turns away from him with a shake of her head and reaches for the oven.

"Come on Beckett, it was good wholesome fun." He snorts before she even has to turn and glare, "Maybe not _wholesome _ but still, fun."

"Strippers, alcohol and gambling, I'll bet it was _fun_." She grumbles and pulls out a steaming tray, the scent of baked chicken filling the room and, though his stomach should be protesting, his mouth starts to water.

She really is an excellent cook. Far better than he would have given her credit for and, though he's thoroughly delighted by his discovery, a small part of him is not at all surprised, she always exceeds his expectations. Beckett somehow manages to catch him off guard with her depth of character and hidden talents. When she gives him these little insights and glimpses of who she is outside of the precinct and the badge there is never any part of him that isn't amazed and left craving more.

She starts to serve the food onto white china plates, moving back and forth with ease and her eyes never leaving his.

"No strippers." He promises, when it dawns on him she's actually waiting for a response. "Burlesque dancing only, but yes to the gambling."

"And the alcohol." She grabs the two plates, gestures at the cutlery and nods towards the dining room. "This is ready if you want to-" She waves him ahead of her with the plates, "And Castle, please tell me you brought Ryan home with you."

He stops mid-step and turns back to her his eyes wide, "Yeah why?"

She shrugs, "I wouldn't put it past you and Espo to have left him cuffed somewhere."

"Huh." He takes a plate from her hands and follows her to the table, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Beckett holds out cutlery, curls one leg underneath her and drops into the chair next to his, holding his eyes with a mischievous smile, "Must be losing your touch."

* * *

"It was an interesting case." He begins, watching her sip at her own glass of water. They've been eating in silence for a few minutes, and though the food is delicious, simple and exactly what his post hangover stomach can... well... stomach, he still finds himself trying to draw her out.

It sort of works, she laughs. "Really?"

He raises an eyebrow in innocence. "What?"

"_It was an interesting case _?" She mimics, her voice dropping low and she rolls her eyes, "We're not going to talk about you dressed as _Elvis _ or the fact that you ran off and _abandoned _ me, your partner, to Captain Gates."

"It - I- it was Atlantic City and-"

She laughs again, lifting onto her elbows and studying his face in the dimmed light that filters down from above their heads. She waits a beat, enjoying him squirm then she grins, "Relax Castle, I was kidding."

He braces himself and leans in, curiosity getting the better of him. "How was it? Just you and her? Did she live up to her name and reputation? Has she convinced you to ditch me, climb the ladder of success and save the world alone?"

He doesn't mean the last part to come out like an actual question, like it's something he's genuinely concerned will happen, but it does and he knows she picks up on it. Her head dips and she sighs, setting her fork down on her plate.

"She said she wanted me to _minimize distractions_." Beckett replies slowly, watching for his reaction and he holds her gaze trying not to let worry or concern play on his features. Castle nods as if it was what he was expecting, because it is.

"That would be _me_."

"Well yeah," She laughs and he sits up, angling himself closer to her, tipping towards the happy sound of her amusement, "Don't worry Castle," She reaches across the table and pats his hand before quickly reaching for her glass, "I had your back."

"You did?" He smiles, surprised and delighted and wanting to know more.

"You're my partner, I think she needs reminding of that sometimes." She shrugs again.

"All the time." He grouses and she knocks his elbow with her own.

"We work well together, come at things from opposing sides, and I think she finally saw a little of that today." Beckett grins down at her plate. "But, she's not wrong about the distractions."

"I offer a unique perspective and insight." He starts to defend and Beckett shakes her head.

"Yes, usually about alien abduction or the C.I.A but I was thinking more about the outfit." She laughs then, a loud HA that makes his eyes widen and the hair on his arms prickle and stand to attention. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to theorize and ask questions, let alone keep a straight face when you're standing there, baring your chest and playing dress up?"

She chuckles under her breath and he watches her reach for the fork and scoop up more potato, her words trickling through his system slowly.

Her eyes flick to his questioningly when he remains silent and she opens her mouth to eat but pauses when he grins slyly.

"Are you implying the sight of my _naked_ chest was _impeding_ your ability to do your job, Beckett?" He tips his head to one side expecting her to flush pink again, to cough around her food or roll her eyes.

Instead she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth thoughtfully, sucking at the edge and biting down, her eyes hold his for barely a second before they drop to the buttons of his shirt.

Her pupils flicker and dance lower, almost as if she's remembering the long Vee of his jumpsuit and how much of his skin was actually on display when he was dressed as The King.

He's not sure if it is the lingering remnants of alcohol still in his system, or just the penetrating force of her stare, but it's as if her hands are _on_ him. Not just her eyes roaming over his body, but he can almost feel her touch through the thin black cotton of his shirt and he swallows thickly, feeling his blood thud harder through his veins.

Her eyes continue to slide over him, across his heart - which pounds out a beat that sounds suspiciously like her name - up to his throat. He knows she will divert to his lips, that she will unconsciously touch her own mouth with her tongue when she does and his whole body stills in anticipation.

He stares at the dart of pink, the quick swipe that takes in all of her bottom lip leaving it wet and glistening invitingly in the muted light. Before he can react beyond gulping and trying to breathe, her eyes are moving again, roaming seeking, searching and reading his every reaction.

Under her perusal he feels like an open book, like his desires and wishes and wants are all the same thing, all wrapped up together and laid out there in the open. All blatant and obvious and all _her_.

Their eyes meet, and though she sits at the head of the table and he sits at her right elbow, the space between them feels huge and miniscule at the same time. She's close enough to touch and just as he seriously thinks about reaching for her hand she's lifting it.

"Not nearly as much as the hair." She half whispers, her fingers swiping at the remnants of a quiff that he just cannot get to sit flat, and he forgets for a moment what question she's answering, his eyes closing when her thumb skims his forehead.

When he opens his eyes again, Beckett pulls her hand back reluctantly, smiles, and lets it fall to the table next to his own. The tips of their little fingers brush and she doesn't say a word, doesn't move save to reach for her fork with her left hand and leave her right pressed against his.

* * *

After a few moments, she breaks the silence quietly, "And I think I might ... like her."

"Gates?" He gasps, dramatically, "I leave for one day and she pulls you over to the darkside."

"It was two days." Beckett blurts, covering her mouth with her fingers when he smirks at her. They both know all things considered it was barely twenty fours that they were working apart and they kept in contact the whole time.

"Did you miss me, Beckett?" He teases, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of succulent chicken. "You did, you missed me."

She makes a noise under her breath but doesn't answer and even though her head is ducked back down towards her plate, her body turned away from him as she chews, he can just make out the faint blush to her cheeks.

"How did Alexis cope without you? Post break up I mean." She deflects effectively but he lets her, content to brag about his daughter.

"She threw a party and thinks I have no idea." He grins, maybe it's the food or the company of his friend and partner but his head is feeling so much better.

"You're really proud of her right now aren't you."

He nods and she laughs, laughs like she is too, proud of him or his kid, maybe just proud of herself for being in the moment with him. It's hard to tell and he doesn't try to define it, he lets it be what it is, just her happy and laughing with him.

"I am."

"The wild child phase doesn't _phase_ you?" She grins and she has a point, sort of, if Beckett's youthful reputation is anything to go by, he thinks his daughter's teenage rebellion thus far has been a breeze.

"No, but I do worry about her future as a criminal mastermind." He snickers when Beckett looks at him in confusion.

"How so?"

"She's not very good at hiding evidence."

She groans and smiles, "Broken ornaments glued back together?"

He laughs and nods, "And she hid a bag of trash in my closet and forgot to take it out."

"Rookie mistakes." Beckett laughs, not at all reassuring when she leans forwards and teases, "Don't worry, Castle. I'm sure she'll get better at it."

* * *

Beckett returns to the table with a plate and two cookies, pushing it towards him as she sits back down.

"So, seeing as I fed you, do I get to hear the story of how you set a mattress on fire?"

His eyes widen and he sits up, giving the witchy woman a suspicious frown, "How did you know about that?" He thought he swore the boys to secrecy.

"I was liaising with A.C.P.D. It came up." Beckett reaches for the plate and pulls it back towards her, holding his cookie hostage. "Now spill."

He smirks and rolls his eyes, no where near as good at it as she is and the end result makes her laugh and push the plate back towards him. Finally convinced she's going to get a good story, Beckett snags her own cookie and settles back, pulling her leg up onto the chair and dropping her chin to her knee.

He clears his throat and begins, weaving a tale the best way he knows how, "Well it all started with a jar of jam and some very, very expensive drapes."

* * *

They talk for a long time, catching up on the missed twenty four hours - that felt like two days - laughing, joking, teasing, and for a while just existing in the same place quietly.

When she leads him to the door to say goodbye neither of them dance around the possibility of a repeat, neither lingers tentative and wondering if they will be doing this again.

They whisper goodnight and she holds the door open, leaning into it to watch him leave, and the next dinner is already blossoming in their minds, at this point it's inevitable. Castle bridges the distance between them and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before he steps out into the hall, raising his hand in farewell, his head clear and his heart lighter than they have been in days.


	4. Kill Shot

**A/N:** Thank you. I say it a lot but I really mean it, for reading, reviewing, alerting, tweeting, favoriting, glaring at the name in passing...Whatever way you have interacted with me or this story :) thank you!

* * *

"Castle?"

He turns slowly, it was already taking everything in him to walk away but her voice reaches out across the precinct floor and anchors him to the spot.

She takes a shallow breath, holds his eyes in the most meaningful way, "Thank you."

"For what?" He asks, trying to keep the surprise from his voice even as his own eyes widen and he wonders why - given everything, given how useless he has felt these last few days - she feels the need to thank him.

She smiles, the tiniest of things, like a fledgling bird seeking freedom for the first time, the soft curl of her lips and slow dip of her head makes his heart soar.

"For not pushing and for giving me the space to get through this."

He smiles, a heavy weight lifting from his chest and relief floods through him. Maybe, just maybe, he was useful after all. Maybe he did help her in some small way.

He can do that, will do that, whatever she needs.

"Always." He replies softly, in answer to Beckett and to himself.

Whatever she needs. _Always_.

He smiles again and forces himself to give her that valued space, his feet carrying him heavily as the last two days of sleepless nights start to catch up to him. He sighs, the weight of watching her agonise and suffer still resting on his shoulders. Castle glances at her as he walks away, watches the way her head drops again, but he sees her cheeks lift the smallest bit, taking comfort in the word -always - in the truth of what he said.

He hopes so anyway.

He's spent the last forty eight hours worrying about her, watching her fall apart and knowing the best way to help her was to take a step back. He ushered others in where he could not tread, where he had no right to step and he did so clinging to the belief that in the end it was the right thing.

He's drained from battling his urges to charge in and try to fix it, from holding himself at arms length and he said she owed him one hundred coffees when what he meant was she owes him a hundred smiles.

He's missed her smile so much.

Her sadness is overwhelming and paralyzing and painful and he wants back the woman who laughs loudly and smiles brightly because he's alive and his jokes are stupid but they are still a spark of light in the darkness that cheer her up.

And he's so lost in his own head, in his own desires and wants for her that he doesn't hear her voice when she calls him, in fact he doesn't even realize she's coming after him until her hand closes over his wrist and he looks down in surprise.

"Castle."

His eyes flick up and she's looking at him tentatively, the black of her pupil shining too brightly in the way he hates, the way that means she was crying not that long ago.

"About tonight." Her fingers press against his wrist and his eyes drop down.

"What?" Castle stares unblinking at the line of red blood on the bandage covering her wrist, her sleeve has ridden up in reaching for him and it's the first proper glimpse he's had since he caught sight of it this morning.

Her eyes follow his, but this time she doesn't immediately drag the leather jacket down to cover the marks. "My apartment's a mess." She confesses quietly, like she might be ashamed and he opens his mouth, already expecting the dismissal but she's shaking her head so he doesn't speak. "And I don't want to cook."

It's the last thing he expects, their dinner plans the furthest thing from his mind. "Beckett, we don't have-"

"I have an appointment."

He nods, they can do it another time, and he truly is okay with it, with waiting and letting her tug the tattered edges back together.

"But afterwards, company would be...I could come- I could bring pizza?" She looks up slowly, sounding so unlike herself with that stuttered gasp of conversation, the plea and her eyes still wide, still bloodshot.

He can't deny her a damn thing, but when she looks like this ... He knows she's been struggling through and crying somewhere by herself and the thought of her suffering alone tears at his insides. It rips little pieces of him to shreds and he hates how it feels, hates knowing that without a doubt his suffering is _nothing_ compared to Beckett's.

Her voice is the smallest sound, cracking through each and every word as she clings on, her strength is astounding. "I'll bring pizza...if you'll have me?"

Her hand is still gripping his arm and he reaches out, tangling their fingers together and squeezing back. He feels her flinch slightly at the contact, noting that she's still jumpy, but he doesn't let go. He repeats the word that made her smile a few moments ago, the word that says everything he can't. The only word that encompasses the enormity and the truth of what he feels.

"Always."

* * *

They part with the agreement that she'll come to him, later, afterwards, and Castle really tries not to watch the clock.

He goes home, showers and makes coffee to keep himself going even though he knows the moment he sits down and actually gives his body a second to decompress he will fall asleep, no matter how much caffeine is in his system.

Weirdly, waiting for her seems to be the only stimulant his body needs and he huffs under his breath at that, _waiting for her_, smiling to himself and he goes back to _not_ watching the clock.

His heart flutters with each minute that passes and he tries not to expect her. Given the days they have had, the agony she has lived through, even though she made the plans, he wouldn't hold it against her if she didn't show up. He would worry the night away and have to call her first thing in the morning, but he wouldn't judge her for it.

The clock creeps past seven, their usual dinner time - the fact that they have one of those makes the ache in his chest all the more prevalent - and it leaps towards eight, taking his hope with it.

Castle settles in anyway, his eyes tormenting him slowly as they dart from his phone to see if she called, to the clock to determine the time and then to the door in anticipation of a knock he's no longer sure will be coming.

He'll drive himself slowly crazy if needs be, but he's not moving. He's not giving up on her.

* * *

Her tentative tap breeches the silence of the loft a little after half past eight and Castle rockets to his feet. It's ridiculous, it's not as if in the ten seconds it will take him to traverse the wooden floors of his home she will change her mind, yet he can't seem to slow himself down.

He puffs out his cheeks, pulls himself together as best he can and opens the door slowly, catching sight of her retreating hand.

She looks better.

He can't believe it, so much better than she looked when they parted ways at the precinct, no where near whole but still, she looks like Kate again.

"You're supposed to let a girl finish knocking before you open the door, Castle." She tilts her head, a small smile lifting her cheeks and he wants to hug her, pull her into him and crush her against his chest. The relief that floods through him is immense and sudden and overwhelming in it's intensity.

Gone are the heels and the binding leather, replaced by simple flat ballet pumps and the deep plum colored shirt that lifts the paleness of her skin. It gives her cheeks a rosy hue and makes her look softer, younger and less pained.

The tight, restrictive and severe - now he thinks about it - bun has been tossed aside and her hair falls in light twists either side of her face, a little pulled back adding to her youthful expression.

But it's her eyes that draw him in, speaking volumes for her mental state and fragility. Gone is the panic and beaten down expression of confusion, frustration, sadness. The whites are no longer marred by red lines or stained with the brutal evidence of her recent tears. Her pupils are bright in the best way and the green shines with something he hasn't seen in days. Hope.

He can't stop staring. She's beautiful, breathtaking, and whatever appointment she has had has done her the world of good.

But it's not a miracle cure and she clears her throat, wavers on the spot and it takes him a second, but Castle sees it then, sees that even though she is better than she was before, lighter brighter, happier maybe, Beckett is still exhausted. She's still recovering from the case, still healing and still standing in his doorway.

His voice is low, almost a sigh when he steps back and gestures for her to move past him. "Come in, Kate."

Her eyes flit to him briefly before she ducks her head and steps into his home, smiling in a way that makes his heart race.

* * *

"I'm late." She scrunches in apology, turning on the spot as he quietly closes the door behind them, and offers him the pizza box, "Forgiven?"

Half the word falls away on a long yawn and Castle reaches for the box, pulls it from her hands and points to the couch.

"Go."

She narrows her eyes and for a brief moment he wants her to argue with him, to press the issue, to be completely Beckett about him ordering her around. Instead she shakes her head, "So bossy." She walks towards the couch, casting him a sly glance over her shoulder as she does, "Don't think this will fly tomorrow, Castle."

He collects utensils and things he's not really sure they need to eat pizza, buying himself a few seconds and letting Beckett get comfortable. "Wouldn't dream of attempting it again."

"Why are you attempting it now?" Her voice gives more weight to the words than she means to, he can read it in the quizzical expression on her face and he shrugs, going for levity.

"I want Pizza, you were too slow." He gestures with the pizza cutter, "And late."

Under the guise of finding plates and glasses Castle watches her closely. He smiles when Beckett rolls her ankles and finally gives in, slipping off her shoes and pulling her knees up underneath her.

Her voice is quiet when she replies, "I did say I was sorry." She meets his eyes, blinking slowly.

"And, depending on what toppings we have, you will be forgiven." He smiles widely when she laughs and forgoes the plates and the waiting around in his kitchen.

With the pizza box balanced in the palm of one hand and a bottle of sparkling water in the other Castle makes his way to where he has wanted to be all day, every second for the last few days in fact. He drops down at Kate's side and lets out another sigh of relief, peeling back the lid.

He feels her watching him over the steam that rises from the box and without looking up he nudges her knee with his own, "Let's eat."

* * *

She takes no prisoners when it comes to pizza. There are mushrooms, red and green peppers, onion, sausage and extra cheese. It is not a pizza conducive to kissing he thinks, as his eyes follow the movement of her lips, unless they've both eaten a lot of it. It delicious, so that's not going to be a problem. Moving might be.

There is no way his pants will be staying buttoned after this meal and he cough-chokes on the mental image of her face if he starts fiddling with his fly.

She has one slice in hand, the crust in the tips of her fingers and the end of the triangular tip just pressing at her lips when she glances over at him.

She raises an eyebrow before taking a bite, and though she chews thoughtfully watching him, there is something in her eyes that make him think she can read his mind, it might be the light smirk that plays over her lips, might be the flicker of amusement in her eyes, whatever it is it makes him cough harder.

Without breaking eye contact Beckett leans forward and uncaps the bottle, pouring him some water and sliding it towards him with one finger.

He nods, coughs and pulls the water up to his mouth catching the quick roll of her eyes and the dart of her tongue as she licks at the pizza sauce trapped at the edge of her mouth.

His breathing stutters in response.

She _may_ take no prisoners when it comes to pizza, but she's _definitely_ had his heart under lock and key for a while now.

* * *

They meander through the meal, she's quiet and he lets her be, after all she requested company and he can be that, will be that if that's what she needs. Together they steadily avoid bringing up her reaction to the sniper case and Castle watches her slow down after two slices of pizza. The third she picks at, peeling away the peppers and popping mushrooms into her mouth slowly.

She pulls apart small segments of melted cheese and licks the grease from her fingers, his mouth hanging open and his eyes following the movement.

"Staring's creepy." Beckett mumbles and his jaw snaps shut. Sometimes he forgets he's even doing it.

"Still?" He wipes his fingers on a paper towel and grins in her direction.

She rolls her eyes and forces herself to sit up, reaching for the table, "Especially when I'm eating."

"Playing with your food." He prods, catching the way she flinches when she extends her arm, the white bandage visible on her wrist. Castle reaches out, his thumb skimming the back of her hand and he can't help but ask, "Does it hurt?"

She freezes, for a split second she becomes a statue, unblinking, unmoving and watching his fingers skate over her skin. He can feel her eyes on him the entire time, can feel the hitch in her breath and the faint quiver where they touch.

She's warm under the pads of his fingers, her skin the finest spun silk and he turns her wrist over, cupping her hand in the palms of his own. Castle waits for her to pull back and when she doesn't he gentle sweeps the tips of his fingers across the thin veins in her wrists, pressing for a response, "Kate?"

She swallows, watching the movement of his fingers, "Didn't at the time." She replies honestly when she finally finds her voice, and, though it comes out on a throaty whisper, her eyes cloud over.

He unconsciously soothes the center of her palm, follows her life line with each digit and dips in and out of her finger creases hypnotically. Her skin is so soft, so warm and delicate under his touch and it strikes at the heart of him again, how astounding her strength is, how deeply and truly extraordinary she is.

"Pulls a bit now." Kate whispers harshly, and their shoulders brush. Castle turns his head sideways and finds her leaning into him, the slow blink of enjoyment and tiredness captured firmly in her eyes.

"Stitches?" His thumb skirts the edge of the bandage, the cuff of her sleeve, and he trails the line, watching her intently as he waits for his answer. Her forehead is just shy of his bicep and with the slightest tug she could be leaning against him.

Her head lifts, answering him at last,"No."

He has to ask, "Are you-?"

"I'm fine." It's harsh and brittle and he sees the regret in her eyes almost immediately. She didn't mean it to sound so defensive and Kate drops her head, almost unable to look at him, "I'm - I will be."

He gives her fingers a squeeze and sets her hand down on her knee with a firm bump, smiling at her and tilting his head closer, "Of that, I have no doubt."

Though it takes a few seconds Kate smiles back. And she doesn't let go of his fingers.

* * *

He slips out of the room for a few minutes to check in with Alexis and when he returns she's asleep.

He falters in his stride, taken aback by the sight of her curled up on his couch and a lump rises in his throat as the surprise washes over him, thoroughly and entirely undoing him with her sweet vulnerability. He's never seen her sleep before, not like this.

Once, what feels like a million years ago, he watched a different version of this woman break her heart over a missing child. But this isn't that. This isn't her curled up in a chair at the victims house, in the middle of the night, frightened out of her wits for the life she seeks desperately to save.

This isn't Beckett the cop catching a few moments to keep her going on the case.

This is Kate.

Kate surrendering to sleep she desperately needs to heal, Kate relaxed and at peace and breathing deeply on his couch. This is Kate as he has never seen her before and Castle freezes where he stands unable to pull his eyes away.

A wonder alights his chest, new and so thankful that she feels safe here, that she trusts him enough to give in and rest. She's exhausted and after _everything _ they have been through together maybe it's silly, but it swells the hope he has squirreled away. It makes it tangible and bright and almost as beautiful as she is.

She's beautiful.

Flawed and a little broken, but nonetheless, beautiful.

Her eyes are closed and the lines on her forehead have faded, the shadows under her eyes less obvious in her relaxed state, but her lashes don't flutter with dreams as he has often imagined they would.

Her toes are curled into the blanket that has slipped from the back of the couch, it half covers her ankle and as soon as he finds the ability to move, he walks towards her determined to cover her up, wrap her in warmth.

Crossing the room quietly Castle gathers up the blanket and lays it over her, tugging it up across her coiled body. She looks so calm and serene that he can't resist brushing one hand over her head as he does.

He goes completely still - his hand still cradling her head - when he hears her sigh, withdrawing when Kate breathes out long and slow, pulling her hand further under her chin.

He's loathe to wake her, to disturb her or have her leave, so Castle lowers himself back down on the couch next to Kate, the broad width of his thigh just brushing her toes. Castle turns to face her, overwhelmed all over again with how grateful he is for the fact she's here, like this, and letting him in.

He watches her sleep, feels her foot slip closer and his hand falls to rest over her ankle. His head drops back and his breathing evens out until it matches hers. Her sentinel too tired to keep his eyes open a moment longer.

In sync and together Castle gives in.

She feels safe here, he'll keep her that way.

* * *

When he wakes she's gone.

He stands, sways slowly on the spot and swallows back the rush of wonder, of delight at what can only be the memory off her whispering in his ear. The tender lilt of her hushed "Goodnight, Castle." And the pressure of her warm palm pressing against the side of his face, threading together and wrapping hotly around his heart.


	5. Cuffed

**A/N**: I'm dubbing this the chapter that would not shut up! Sorry for the delay and if my internet could just _work_ that would be awesome! Thank you for reading along if you still are :)

* * *

"Hitched?"

Her eyes meet his as her body turns and she waits for the realisation to sink in. She's smirking - just a bit, just enough that it spreads out across her skin and touches her eyes making her all the more alluring - and fiddling with her coat like he's the worlds biggest -

What did he just say?

"Hitched?" He backtracks fast, and she turns again not batting an eyelid when he reaches out and plucks her coat from her hands, "No, I didn't say "Hitched." I said "Cuffed"." Her eyes roll and he ignores it, feeling the brush of her fingers slip past his own when her arms slide into the sleeves.

He can't help it though, the mere suggestion of it terrifies him, not the_ her_ of it but the _hitched _ of it all. "Handcuffed," he reiterates, "not hitched - the colloquial or any other connotation or meaning."

The coat slips through his fingers, his eyes probably a bit wider than they should be but he still watches as she fluffs her hair out from the neck of the collar, turning to face him again.

Her voice is warm and soothing, "It's okay, Castle. I understood what you meant."

The way her face crinkles makes him think she understood his little slip up all too well and he swallows, tries to breathe through it and calm the beat of his heart.

She starts rooting around in her bag, head down as she talks but with the slightest lift to her cheeks making him watch her intently, more intently than he already was.

"And for what it's worth if I ever have to spend another night handcuffed to someone again-" She turns, inhaling a deep breath, eyes sparkling and her smile just off in the distance, "I wouldn't mind if it was you, either."

She spins away before he can study her face, focus on her eyes and he's just a bit stunned she's being that open and honest about it.

"Really?"

Beckett turns back, a look of triumph bright in her eyes when she claims her helmet and tucks it securely under her arm. "But next time-" she pauses, catches his eye, "-lets do it without the tiger." She smiles, her eyebrows darting high for such a brief moment that he almost misses it, then she's scurrying away towards the elevator, her body breezing past him leaving that lingering scent he woke up to and - wait what?

"Next time?"

He stares after her in disbelief wondering if he misheard her, and though his voice isn't raised that loudly she must hear him because she turns back, her eyes flashing dangerously in his direction.

It's a look that bleeds through with promise, with heat and fever and _next time next time next time _ thundering through every second of it.

Her stride stays confident, unfaltering and damn sexy - he can't tear his eyes away from her - and she keeps moving, but the look she throws him makes his knees tremble. The nonchalance of her retreat breathing new life into his belief that she knows exactly what she just inferred, what beautifully suggestive imagery she just left him with.

She did say he could fantasize all he wanted to later and now is most definitely later. He smiles, he lied, doing it with or without her permission doesn't affect his enjoyment of it. She fills his head non-stop anyway.

In fact if she's playing into the fantasies - teasing him to distraction before she flees with an all too knowing grin - that just adds to the dark tangle of desire that they are wrapped in.

That consumes him.

He catches her smirk as she rounds the corner, soft pink bursts of color over her cheeks and Castle grins to himself. He gets a little giddy at the implication of a night spent alone with Beckett and handcuffs and no demon wild cats - other than the teasing detective - to keep him company.

He knows he'll be the one wearing them and he's more than okay with that, with being tethered to her and at her mercy for however long she wants to keep him dangling.

Castle bounces on the balls of his feet, shimmies and strolls off in the opposite direction, grinning and preening and pleased with himself.

When he draws level with her desk it hits him and Castle suddenly remembers she owes him a dinner. He has no idea how he could forget that.

The almost tiger nibbling isn't even really a good enough excuse and instead of sitting in his chair at the side of her desk as he planned, Castle takes a detour, looping around and doubling back on himself, heading off to the left away from the bullpen and out towards the elevators in hopes of heading her off.

He doesn't skip, but it's about as close as he's ever come, his feet frantic and still giddy and he skids to a stop directly in front of her.

Their bodies almost colliding.

She raises a lone eyebrow as he rights himself.

She's stockstill, leaning against the wall next to the closed elevator doors, her arms folded and her bike helmet dangling enticingly from the tips of her fingers. Her head is cocked to one side and she smiles, a slow unfurling thing full of pleasure and intent, hot, bright and still teasing, always teasing.

"I thought you'd actually forgotten." She grins and the tip of her tongue pokes out between her teeth. No small amount of relief in her voice when she sees that he hasn't, he didn't.

God, how could he ever forget anything involving this woman?

Heat rushes through him, like concentrated white flame, straight to the center of his chest, rippling up and trickling down.

She was waiting for him.

He shakes his head, and falls into the wall slowly, mimicking her pose, folding his arms in front of his chest and crossing one ankle behind the other. "Never." Her smile widens just a fraction, but he catches it all the same. "I am curious though."

Her brow scrunches, eyes narrowing, "Oh?"

"What does one eat post tiger bait survival?" He's a little presumptuous, but her response gives him reason to be.

Beckett pushes off from the wall and moves towards him, his position making it impossible for her to push the buttons for the elevator without leaning in close - and she does.

The soft blue of her turtleneck, the familiar scent of her hair, the stretch of her arm and the way her fingers linger when they brush past his bicep to press the button all reminding him of waking up with her body pressed against his.

It's met by sudden and sweet memory of holding her hand and hoisting her above his head, of her tumbling through the air, of catching her and landing backwards on a mattress. Together.

Her eyes darken, jade and midnight in the fluorescent overhead lights, the slow slide of her eyelids making his breath catch and his heart race, the beats themselves falling in time with the movement.

"Meat." She fires back, smirking when he startles, her eyes dropping to his lips "Lots of it." The heat of her gaze feathers its way over his face until their eyes meet again, "Reassert our dominance as the head of the food chain."

He licks his lips, imagining hers, swallows and nods, "I like it."

He can't resist, the call of the words or the pull of her body that close, and he gives in to his own innuendous mentality, "So, Beckett? How'd you like your meat?"

She snorts, rolls her eyes and pushes away.

"The bloodier the better?" He teases, regretting it immediately when the thought of all those knives and saws covered in raw red meat remnants and stained with blood dance through his mind.

She clearly agrees and Beckett shakes her head, slow, strands of hair falling either side of her face and across her chest, "After today, _char grilled _!"

* * *

The doors of the elevator slide open and they step inside together, matching footfalls that have them turning on the spot and facing out at the same instant the doors close, confining them once again.

Neither of them aware of the danger until the elevator begins its descent and the air between them suddenly seems to thicken.

Each breath he takes sounds thunderous, loud and rough. He can hear her breathing just as hard, just as quick, but he resists the urge to turn to her.

They're trapped, the enclosed space throwing them back to being tethered together underground. It throws them forwards with the promise of what's to come, of _next time_ and _without the tiger_ and a million other butterfly inducing feelings. It traps them exactly where they are. In the tight, all too close, away from prying eyes, confines of the slowly moving elevator.

The temperature seems to sky rocket, heat lingering under the edge of his collar, his skin feeling flushed and tight and a hundred times more aware than it was only seconds before.

Like he's standing too close to the fire. Too close to Beckett! The heat seems to radiate from her, billowing out around them, his fingers steal under his collar trying to elevate the pressure, the burn of his skin. It doesn't help. Nothing will.

He gives in, sudden and inevitably, chancing a look in her direction - his tongue pressing hard to the roof of his mouth, dry, uncomfortable - just as she turns to look at him, and their eyes lock.

Like the snapping together of two puzzle pieces. Like the cocking of a gun or a thunder clap, lightning strike, sudden and instant awareness of _her _ takes over every sinew, every muscle, every firing synapse and cell in his body.

The dark pools of her ink black pupils dilating softly in the muted light and though he stares intently into her eyes, battling the urge to blink, he also takes in her body in the peripheral of his vision.

Her shoulders are trembling, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as rapidly as his own must be and between the two of them they are devouring the oxygen in the little metal box. Sucking it down in great heaving gulps and the longer they stare at each other the more intense and ragged their breathing becomes.

It doesn't matter really, they should share it - the air - share breath, he thinks, his focus trained on her eyes but his mouth suddenly desperate to press against her own lips.

They could swallow each other whole and feed off the other lazily, frantically, the air between them no longer an issue and as if she knows her eyes drop, straight to his mouth, to his parted and slightly pouty lower lip. Her chest dances in a frantic rhythm, up and down up and down, her own lips part and there's nothing else for it. He has to kiss her.

He has to.

Castle heaves in a deep shuddering breath and takes a step towards Beckett - just as the machine rocks, the doors part on a ding and a cold blast of air comes rushing at them.

They both turn on a gasp, the cold light of day intruding, and slowly, - he thinks reluctantly - she steps out, lifts a hand in farewell and walks out of the lobby.

"Seven." She mouths, turning back again fast, heated stains in a crimson surge across her cheeks.

* * *

He doesn't take a cab, he walks home - or floats, either is possible - the memory of her parted pink lips, flushed red skin and deep, mesmerizing, emerald eyes keeping him in

Technicolor company all the way home.

* * *

When Castle arrives at her apartment at 6.56pm he doesn't hesitate to knock this time, his knuckles rapping fast and hard the moment he reaches her door.

They're three dinners in and already he likes that there is less hesitancy between them, not huge leaps and bounds but enough that it feels like progress, like continual steps in the right direction. Like maybe they're earning each other with each little insight and moment of alone time.

He showered when he got home, changed his shirt and grimaced at the trace of what could only be tiger hair on his shirt sleeves. But he's dressed up a little, dark blue and black and confidence flooding his blood, a night alone with Kate and promise.

He knocks, three times, and she opens the door a little after the third with a smile that leaves him standing breathless in her doorway.

She looks different. Stunning.

Her hair is still down, but the ends kink and curl in different directions, like she's washed it and left it to dry naturally, the soft lingering scent of her shampoo assails his senses confirming it.

The lines around her eyes are smokey and inviting, blurring the already blurred lines between them.

He's not sure they even exist anymore.

She's ditched the blue turtleneck in favour of another almost see through white shirt, this one long and flowy, the tail ends of the material skimming her legs mid thigh.

He still can't quite reconcile this woman with the kickass detective, and his words catch in his throat before he can speak them.

"Am I going to have to extend an invitation every time?" She asks, snapping his attention away from her long legs and back up to her quizzical face. "You're like the worlds least successful vampire."

"Because I haven't bitten you yet?" The words are out before he can catch them and she startles with a laugh, lids lowering teeth flashing.

"Who's to say you'd be doing the biting." She arches an eyebrow in challenge, waits for him to step inside and shuts the door behind him, trapping him in her lair.

* * *

He watches her knot the apron, the long ties winding around her narrow hips in dizzying, fascinating circles, making him feel like a cartoon character - pretty convinced his own head is mimicking the movement.

"I haven't started yet." She gestures towards the food, fresh vegetables and the ingredients for an easy salad still wrapped and unwashed. "Meats in the fridge." She grimaces, "You're early, how hungry are you?"

A look flashes across her face and she turns away before he can see too much of it, before he can comment. But he sees enough.

"Very." He gives her a knowing look, even as she darts around the counter and keeps her eyes averted and he lets it linger long enough for her to give in, head tilting in his direction. "Put me to work, Kate." Castle smiles, backing away towards her couch, shrugging off his jacket and reaching for his cuffs.

He plans to continue the tease, follow through with a little more innuendo but his fingers tangle in the buttons, "Huh?" He yanks and tugs and they don't budge.

"Trying to get out of it already?" She asks, her voice at his right ear and he turns, surprised to find her so close, her body brushing his as she moves around him.

"No." He promises, with more emphasis than he really needs, but she smiles, her eyes softening visibly.

She reaches for his sleeve and he doesn't protest, doesn't utter a word, just holds his hand out for her, nimble fingers immediately detaching the button.

"Just a little tied up." He catches her eye and they share another smile.

"Seems to be a recurring theme for us today."

"Yes, being handcuffed to you wasn't nearly as much fun as I imagined."

"Yeah, you said that, and now is not when I meant for you to start fantasizing." She laughs when his head snaps to her in shock. "Let's at least eat first." Her fingers squeeze his palm, "All done."

"My hero." Kate throws a glare over her shoulder, an unsaid_ knock it off_ lingering in the air and he nods, rubbing his hands together gleefully "What do you want me to do?"

He steps past her, washes his hands letting the ice cold blast of water trickle between his fingers, and looks for somewhere to dry them.

"I have carrots that need chopping." Kate gestures to the wooden board next to the salad ingredients, holding out a large, extremely sharp looking knife towards him, handle first.

He spots the apron at her waist and reaches for it, grabbing a handful of the clean white cotton and scrunching it roughly over the backs of his hands. He tugs harder than he means to, brings her off her feet and into him with a jerk.

She flinches, a high pitched yelp leaving her mouth and the knife clattering onto the counter-top. Her hand lands on his chest, fingertips curling for balance and she clings, nails digging into the warmth of his wrist.

Her eyes lift to his slowly, wonder and accusation both blazing at him, like he did it deliberately and she can't just stare at him like that, like she knows he did when hes not even sure himself.

He smiles down at her, testing the limits of what he'll get away with, tilting his head forward and widening his eyes, trying out his innocent look and gauging her response.

He arches an eyebrow and her fingers clench in his shirt and her eyes holds his for the longest second before they roll sending sharp hot needle like desire under his skin.

"Jeeze, Castle do you have a death wish?" She shoves him away, reaches for the knife at the same times he does, "There was a towel right there." She points to the sink and, sure enough, he spots it.

"Huh, how did I miss that?" He mutters under his breath, smiling. She's holding out the knife when he turns back, "Ah carrot chopping one of my favorite pastimes."

Taking it from her, Castle twirls it deftly between his fingers and slams the blade down viciously into the orange vegetable, relishing the _schwooft _ sound he makes as metal meets wood and he removes the head.

"Mmm, satisfying."

"Picturing Gates." Kate asks, nodding down at the poor defeated carrot, her eyes dancing mischievously.

"Nope." Castle slices again, sighing in enjoyment. "Tiger tails -Ow!" He flinches when she nudges him, "You're a menace in the kitchen, Katherine Beckett. Dropping knives and throwing elbows," He sighs, "I almost lost a finger."

"So dramatic, Castle." She smiles her eyes dropping to his hands.

"Don't be mean detective," he challenges, "just remember if I cut myself you'll have to kiss it better."

She flicks her eyes at him sideways, their meandering path dropping over his chest and skating low, lower until he has to force his eyes away.

* * *

She cooks the steak, great thick chunks of meat that burn and sizzle in the pan emitting mouth-watering flavors that pull him to her side. He hovers just out of reach, content to watch her work her magic.

She sprinkles a little salt, a dash of pepper and stirs at a shiny glaze - the ingredients of which she refuses to tell him - smearing the barest layer over the meat before she flips it and a great billow of smoke erupts.

She emerges from it fast, like a magician, her skin reddened and flushed invitingly, determination and intent battling it out on her features as she works.

She's good with her hands he notes, his head dipping so he can get as close as possible without crowding her, unblinking in his devoted gaze.

Nimble fingered and deft, steady hands and she's only cooking but god! He could watch her all day. She does something, wiggles the pan, adds a splash of another secret ingredient and a sweetness floods the air. Juicy and spicy with an after note of tang that tangles with his senses.

His stomach quivers in delight, shudders in expectation and he swallows down his suddenly ravenous appetite for the food, focusing instead on the detective.

He watches her fork the meat, stabbing at it methodically, sees her eyes close as she relishes the hiss it creates, lets his eyes slide down her curving spine as she bends forwards and tilts into the succulent aroma. He reaches her waist, follows the curve of her hips and just starts to peruse the taut swell of her -

"Ugh."

"What?" He jumps, startles and checks to see if he's been caught and then moves to her side instantaneously, the concern in his voice so evident that she turns and grins at him, apologetic and sweet and almost stopping him dead.

"Nothing...I just-" She shakes her head, sighs. "I have my hands full and my hair is - could you?" Her skin is flushing again, deeper, darker suffused through with heat.

He doesn't hesitate, "I can."

Castle steps behind her, just off to the side so that the back of her left thigh presses against the front of his right, the tip of his shoe fitting between her feet.

He fits his body around hers, one hand falling into the dip of her waist, his palm cupping the curve of her body like it did this morning when they woke up on the mattress and she asked him to check her back.

His thumb sweeps, the same rhythmic motion as before, the same memory in the pads of his fingers where they meet her body and she goes still, humming quietly.

The fingers of his left hand slide down her arm, hovering over the back of her hand. He loosens her grip, wriggles and eventually slides the handle of the pan from her fingers, replacing her steady hold with his own.

The hand at her waist moves higher, his jaw at her ear, their bodies entwined and every movement he makes is slow, - agonizingly slow, beautifully slow - waiting for her to move away, to freeze up and ask him to stop. Anything.

Castle watches his hand drift over her shoulder, caressing her neck, the tips of his fingers skimming her collar bone before he slides them into the heated, tumbled mass of her hair.

His fingers unfurl at the base of her neck and he hears her inhale, deep and almost against her will - the hot rush of breath forcing her back against his chest - and he rasps his nails just behind her ear, weaving the strands of her hair around his fingers before she can move away.

His gentle tug at her scalp and the soft surge of his fingers draw sounds from her he's never heard before, both new and surprising. Delightful almost moans that never actually leave her lips.

He watches her shoulders drop and her muscles relax, sees her eyelashes flutter and close. Yet her skin hums with electricity, zipping sparks and sharp reminders at every point of contact. Everywhere they touch comes alive.

She stutters on a heated breath, "Not what I-"

He gives up her hair and his right hand joins hers, stealing her words when his fingers curl around her elbow, drag down her forearm, replacing her touch and hold on the fork with his own.

He pulls the utensil from her fingers so that her hands are free but her body remains trapped in the circle of his embrace.

"There." He breathes her in, his voice hot and rich, velvet and dark, the smell of her making him lose his mind, and if it wasn't for the quiver of her fingers under his own his confidence would plummet, he might even pull away. And whether it was not what she meant or not what she expected he can't bring himself to care, because she isn't moving. Not once inch.

Kate stays there, her body pressing back against his own and her response is breathless, the slightest "Thank you," coming out in an amused and shaky rush, whisper light and beautiful.

She pulls her hair back, carefully avoiding his face when she lifts her arms and begins twisting and knotting the strands at the base of her neck. The straggly unbound ends already breaking free when she lowers her hands and the proximity tickling him until he smiles.

She lifts her head, turns towards him catching the smile and the soft chuckle that escapes him. Her eyes are dark and she lifts her head so that their cheeks brush, sighing softly.

He hears the little decisive gasp leave her mouth, feels the frantic rush of air explode from her lips as they part.

He feels her rock onto the balls of her feet, bringing herself closer, her body coiling tightly against his own. He hears the air inhaled into her lungs, feels the beat of his heart thud through his chest and reach for her.

He watches as Kate's eyes close before their lips even touch.

She breathes against his skin, slow and hot, her body resting against his own and her eyes opening slowly, large pools of indecision gone, replaced by nothing more than blatant desire and all consuming want.

She lets him see it, lets him read it in her eyes and her body as he breathes life into her, his touch setting light to her skin.

She breathes, her body at once at peace and crackling with energy in his arms, and he hesitates as she takes a second, pauses and pushes her head against his own before she turns back to the food.

"I got it." She says quietly, smiling her thanks at him in a sideways grin that makes his heart pick up the pace.

"You do." He agrees, his lips at her neck, so close he could press his mouth to her pulse and kiss the frantic beat of her heart.

But he doesn't, though he can't help but delight in the shiver of her skin when his whispered words invade her ears. Castle pulls his hands back, once more finding himself playing over the soft skin at her elbow and arched curve of her waist.

He catches the barest glimpse of something in her eyes before he forces himself away from the call of her body against his own.

Something determined and decided that he doesn't quite understand dances there, but she smiles again - her lips parting at whatever she's thinking about - and Castle finds himself content to wait just a little bit longer.

* * *

"Wine?"

"Yes!" She barks her response and they both laugh, both startled and he nods, scurrying across the kitchen.

The act of serving food and setting out glasses provides a pretty decent distraction for the moment, though their eyes are magnetized by the pull of the other.

He moves around her home with growing confidence, condiments next to the coffee machine snagged and relocated to the dining room table. Glasses from the top shelf in hand and ready to place.

He reaches over her shoulder for napkins and she ducks under his arm for cutlery. She huffs when they almost collide their bodies spinning around each other when he reaches for the corkscrew and she wraps her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle.

She watches him when he looks away and she pretends not to notice when he does the same, but the feel of it, of being observed and scrutinized and visually devoured is a hot flame that licks equally at their skin.

When they can avoid it no longer she gestures to the table and he waves a hand in front of him, allowing her to go first.

They smirk at each other and she moves off, checking over her shoulder as he follows her in silence.

They eat, their breathing creating an ambiance that thickens the air, weaving and contorting around them. The ties that bind them together, here and now, getting tighter and tighter the longer the silence persists.

She swallows and he reaches for his wine, eyes locking frequently, gazes lingering over teasing fingers and parting lips, darting tongues and flashing teeth. All thoughts of the tiger forgotten. Too lost in each other.

"I like the sauce." He comments, when he stand it no longer, his tongue dissecting the flavours over and over again, desperate for something to break the tension, "I can't-"

"You're not supposed to." She interrupts, setting down her fork and smiling. Her elbows are on the table again, her legs stretched out and the brush of her knee against his own pulls his attention to her lips.

"Family recipe?" He tilts his head, leans closer, their elbows brushing and he drops his eyes to watch the way she lays her hand next to his own, her glass forgotten and the cuff of his sleeve ends up twisted under the pad of her thumb.

"No," she laughs, getting bolder, her fingers sweeping his, "Cook book."

"Hmm."

"Hmm, what?" Her eyes are wary and she all but dares him taunt her.

"Hmm, I'm wondering if that constitutes cheating." He nods, "I think it does. That's cheating." Her laughter dies and she glares, her mouth opening to argue but he catches her fingertips and squeezes. "But I'll give it an eight."

"It's not cheating, I still cooked it." She grins when he shrugs, her head lolling forwards, hair falling in an auburn cascade that hides her face, and her voice quieter when she speaks, "Eight huh?"

"Mmmhmm. But the company gets an eleven."

He waits for an eye roll or the retreat of her fingers and instead he gets a pink cheeked smile.

Everything on his plate reminds him of being wrapped around her body in the kitchen. The steak should be burnt - standing at her back with his fingers in her hair - but it's not. The carrots turned to mush - running his hand down her side and cupping her waist - but they're not.

Everything is delicious.

The potatoes fluffy and light, the woman opposite him staring at him like he has a secret she wants the answer to.

If only she'd ask.

He's more than willing to give up the answer to any question she poses.

* * *

"Are you sure-?" She nods towards the couch, an invitation bleeding through her eyes and he reluctantly shakes his head.

"No, I promised Alexis." He grumbles, "And Mother."

"They want the story of how we battled the tiger?"

"You mean the story of how you saved me." He teases.

She shakes her head, puts the plates down, "We saved each other."

"Calling it a draw?" He smirks, "Trying to get out of cooking me another dinner, Beckett?"

She stops and stares, her eyes blazing with sincerity, her knuckles white on the back of the chair as she holds on, "Not calling it a draw, Castle. It was pure partnership."

He smiles.

"We took on a tiger and survived." She mutters quietly, "And we kicked a hole in the wall to do it."

She grabs the wine bottle and heads towards the kitchen, leaving him to stare after her, his smile getting wider.

* * *

They pause at the door when she sees him out. Both reluctant for the night to end, both searching for the a way out of the smoky haze of lust and want and frantic need that has settled over them.

They struggle through it, through the closeness of each others bodies like they have for years, but he smiles when she pulls the door open, grinning up at him and knowingly blocking his path mischievously before she steps back and lets him pass.

She watches him, he can feel her eyes on his back and when he turns he's met with a shy smile, her eyes wide and intent.

He says goodnight, quietly, forcing his feet to move, drifting from her door and he's barely taken a step when she catches his wrist and pulls him back.

"Goodnight, Castle." She breathes, the same lingering look from the kitchen marching through her eyes. Lifting herself up onto her toes, her fingers still tight in his cuff and one hand curling around the back of his neck, Kate pulls him down for her kiss.

His eyes drop to the line of her lips following their movement, their sweet revealing of the pinkness of the moist inside edge of her mouth and she smiles, the tiniest spark of joy racing across her lips before they collide and she opens against him.

Her mouth is wet and rich as she claims his lips, startling him for the briefest second before he responds. He chases her retreating tongue, pulls her in against him firmly and holds her face so that his thumb can trace her cheek bone.

He swallows down the growl that rises in his chest at the feel of her jaw working against his palms and cradles her face, holds her tenderly, letting her surge into the kiss. She's like liquid, pure fluid movement in his hands and the pads of her fingers are burning points of contact all along his arms.

Her knees knock into his, thighs and hips and chest and mouths aligning and she kisses him, keeps kissing him, the burning heat of her mouth branding him beyond recognition.

Her tongue traces the roof of his mouth, and he's enveloped by her flavor, dark and sweet and he sucks on her tongue desperate for a little more of it, desperate for all of it. All of her.

He takes what she offers up and pushes her for more, the thumb at her cheek slides down and he angles her head, pushes her chin up so he can drink her in. Their tongues tangle, no dueling but a choreographed dance, perfect symmetry and sizzle. The salsa or tango of kisses, they sway into it and stars flitter behind his eyes.

She pulls out of the kiss messily, her lips wet and hot and smudged against his own, panting to catch her breath. Deep heaving breaths of air that he gulps down too, the moment he is able to control his brain enough to do it.

Their hearts pound.

He presses his forehead to her own, their noses skimming for the briefest of seconds. Long drawn out fragments of time in which he stares into her eyes, watching the iris succumb to the dilation of her pupil and then battle back, green and black at once at war within her eyes. A battle he wants to watch her wage forever.

He strokes her cheeks, over and over again, the softness of this fierce woman, his friend and partner, leaving him breathless yet again.

He nudges her nose with his own, bumps his lips against the tip when her eyes flutter shut and he traces the outer edge of her earlobe with his thumb.

"Goodnight. Kate." He breathes her name with reverence, with intent and meaning, his fingers tumbling loosely through her hair sliding to the back of her neck and pulling her towards him one last time.

Their lips brush each other lightly, soft - innocent almost - and sweet, like peaches and sunlight until, together, they pull back.

"Until tomorrow." She hums, leaning back against her door and watching every retreating step he takes as he leaves. Smiling at him when his step falters at her words and a grin bursts happily across his face.


	6. Til Death do Us Part

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay. Life and eh, why must things get in the way of playing with fictitious characters that belong to other people? As always, for the ex birthday girl (LoveJessieLou) who will never age as long as this story is being written. I'm dedicating this to Everythings-Castle for setting up a protest in my PM box until I got my ass in gear!

* * *

Their eyes meet - a tender heated look that lasts less than a second - as the soon-to-be-married couple kiss and separate. Castle sees Beckett smile and wonders what exactly is going through her head, is it the same thought that is racing through his?

Lately it seems like every time someone kisses near them their eyes meet on a mutual understanding that one day soon it will be them. They will be the ones pressed tight in the elevator or lifting up on the tips of their toes as their lips meet in farewell, and after last night - he still can't quite believe she kissed him - the idea is burning brighter than ever.

Ryan self deprecatingly tells them he knows they're nauseating, but Castle just grins back at him widely and catches Kate doing the same before she looks down at her magazine. He really wants to give Ryan a run for his money on most nauseating precinct kiss - with Beckett obviously - and he thinks they could be approaching a place where that's possible.

She's chewing her gum and smiling, lips and teeth smacking together with a soft huff of laughter. He knows Espo has started talking again, something about dating and Lanie and the wedding but Castle finds he can't take his eyes off of her. He grins and nods along like he's supposed to but his eyes flick back and forth absorbed in Kate.

She chews and laughs and curls her hair behind her ear before licking at the tip of her long slender finger and turning the page. Castle sees Espo do a little dance out of the corner of his eyes and tunes back into the conversation just in time to hear it get awkward and he grimaces.

His eyes dart to Kate - in hope - but she's making a face not dissimilar to his own, waiting for her friend's reaction. Then she's laughing, the silliest of looks flashing across her features, changing everything about her and he watches the transformation in wonder. It lifts her up, breaks her open for them to see, for the briefest of seconds, and then it's gone.

She can barely keep the roll of her eyes out of the tone of her voice and he feels the nudge of her foot under the table, deliberate or otherwise he's not sure, he thinks - well hopes - it's on purpose, and he turns at her teasing tone, can't help but smile at the way she fights the grin.

"Don't worry Espo. I'm going alone. So if the Sorority girls don't work out I'll dance with ya." She smiles then, can't seem to help herself, this light tease of a thing giving away how much she enjoys mocking her friend, her voice deep and rich and silly with happiness and Castle leans closer, needing to be near her as she grins at herself, scrunching her face up. He thinks he sees her wink at Espo, but if she's going to be dancing with anyone at the wedding he wants it to be him.

It's been just under twenty four hours since she kissed him and he sips at the coffee in his hands in hope it will keep him awake and alert because he had a pretty fitful night - full of Beckett dreams, tangled apron strings and kisses against doors - not that he's really going to need anything other than her presence to keep him buzzing with awareness.

The memory of her kiss on his lips and the fluid movement of her body against his in the kitchen have every fiber and neuron firing as if he's on his fourth cup of espresso, his skin jittery with it. With the need to talk about it and repeat it, repeat it a lot, and here she is offering up dances and he really does think he should be first in line.

They haven't spoken about it and when he arrived this morning she met him with her head dipped forward, hiding under her hair, and a smile far too shy for the look she was giving him. Intent and focused, when he smiled and extended his hand, she had taken the cup from him and brushed her thumb along his fingers in thanks.

He can still feel her leg tight against his under the table, watching her head drop back down to her magazine, the ghost of a smile still playing over her lips and she goes back to somewhat obnoxiously chewing her gum. She really does smack her lips when she chews. It's not at all his fault when he moves against hers, the firm brush of their thighs sending instant heat to his stomach when he stretches out, letting his foot sweep past hers.

Their knees knock and that shouldn't be sexy or intimate or feel like it's fueling the fire of something delicious and dangerous, but it is and it does and when she shifts awkwardly in the seat, her fingers creasing the paper of her magazine as her grip tightens, he knows the closeness is getting to her too.

Good.

Almost immediately he reaches out, his hand seeking his cup once again, and he brings it to rest next to hers on the table, casting her a sly look before he brushes the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers.

Her reaction is instantaneous.

She jumps in her seat, static racing between them sparked to life by the simplest of movements but her head stays tilted down, her eyes thoroughly unfocused on the words on the page as she blinks rapidly, a delicious little hitch in her breath.

Her skin is soft, colder than his in a pleasant way that makes him want to wrap himself around her and warm her up. He smooths the underside of her little finger, trails the length of her index by worming his way between her and the magazine, until his own finger is at the center of her palm.

That hitch in her breath becomes a fully fledged sigh that ruffles the pages when he begins tracing patterns up and down her lifeline, and she lets him do it. Each stroke of his fingers getting a little bolder, a little more tender until she squeezes her fingers around his, stopping the movement and freezing him in place.

He waits for her to pull away and instead he's met with another squeeze and he knows he might be staring, might be watching the movement of her fingers too intently for it to go unnoticed but then she's lifting her head and meeting his eyes and her thumb is sweeping the back of his hand and the pads of her fingers are beautiful little icy pinpricks of sensation against skin that feels very hot and tight.

Kate twines their fingers together, the soft rustle of the pages shielding them enough for now and they're almost holding hands in the break room when Ryan speaks and pops their little bubble of silence.

"Castle, Jenny tells me that you RSVP'd plus one."

She freezes against him instantly and his mouth opens as she pulls her hand away, her head snapping firmly up to look at him. She hides her shock well and this is exactly why they should have spoken about it this morning, the kiss, the wedding, the way her body fits against his so perfectly.

Ryan's happy voice makes him feel guilty for not paying more attention to the man's excitement for his upcoming wedding and Castle forces himself to turn from Kate's very near glare, pulling his hand away to reach for his cup for another sip.

Her eyes are burning into him and he looks up at Ryan. "Mhmm." He smiles into the cup for Ryan's benefit, thinking of no other way to answer and drinking slowly.

"You're bringing a date?" She questions, her voice no longer low and rich, warm with the teasey promise of dancing, she doesn't sound hurt, not quite, but she's not far from it and her tone is firmer, the breeze of the interrogation room blowing through the words.

It dawns on him suddenly and with shock, like an ice cube down his back, that maybe given everything they have been doing the last few weeks he should have asked her. That if he had she might have - he chances a look in her direction and catches the flare through her pupils - probably would have, said yes.

But they weren't dating, not really, not as far as he knew. She said dinner and his hopes were high - way up higher than he even realized until now - that maybe they could be dining to date? Prepping for what was to come next. But then she went and kissed him and tilted his perspective and they haven't spoken about it.

"I am." He confirms with a short, sharp nod.

"Who?" It's a near bark of a word and Castle fights the urge to smile, just barely, catching the concern drift over Ryan's face.

He can't resist the tug of enjoyment he gets from that, the fact she sounds, maybe, possibly, a bit jealous and Ryan is eyeballing him like he's put his foot in it. Or he's about to put his foot in it and there is a wedding to think of and Ryan's already fending off one broken-hearted couple, he really doesn't need a mopey Beckett added into the mix.

Sorry, Ryan.

Castle goes for levity to ease the tension and turns to face Kate, his lips curling as he compliments his date, thinking of each of the qualities as he applies them, watching every word land and the reaction she has to each of them. "Oh...well, she's beautiful, she's intelligent, she's funny and the way she smiles at me sometimes just melts my heart."

Her eyes are wide open and searching his face, caramel waves of hair falling either side of her face but she's not using them to hide from him now. She's staring at him trying to read him, her lips parted in surprise. As if maybe she thinks he would bring an _actual_ date, that maybe she's not made her intentions clear enough.

"It's Alexis." He confirms with a smile, as if she's crazy to even consider any other possibility and her relief is immediate and obvious. Beckett's eyes crinkle at the edges, greeting him with a glorious smile. Her head dips low again, the thick fan of her lashes hiding whatever lingering look he should be sharing in and he watches her chest fall on a sigh.

At that moment Esposito strides back i,n his face solemn and serious in a different way. No longer concerned about dates or weddings or ex-girlfriends, "Guys, we got a fresh one." He indicates his phone and Ryan nods in response, following his partner out of the break room, leaving Castle and Beckett at the table.

He turns to her slowly, catching her eye as she pushes herself up, slapping her magazine closed and reaching for her cup. Another eye roll - this one just for him - and a smile that doesn't look like it's going to be leaving her face for a long time meet his gaze, drawing out his own in response.

"Beckett, I would have asked -" He stops, leaves the sentence to hang between them so she knows. She has to know by now, surely, she must understand that if the choice is her in any way he's going to make it and if she had wanted to come with him - be his date - then yes, he would have asked. He should have.

She smiles at him shyly again, and how can she be shy with him? How can she possibly be that soft and open and shy with him here, after everything. Not just after the years they have spent together, and the battles they have raged and survived. But after kissing him and claiming him at her door, how can she think he's anything other than, thoroughly and contentedly, claimed?

She's going to kill him, her eyelashes beating softly and her fingers clenching at the magazine so that this deep seated need to bring her out of herself takes root all over again. Just like it did that first year they met, when she was all buttoned up and rigid. When the hurt was so prevalent in her eyes he wasn't sure he could ever get beyond it enough to make her smile.

And then he did.

Not a sarcastic lip curl or the snark of enjoyment when she caught him out or proved him wrong. The very first time he got her to smile - a fully fledged Kate Beckett smile - he knew there was no going back, that he would do anything to keep seeing her smile like that, to bring a little bit of light into a life too marred by shadow.

Now he just wants to do it again. Everyday, all the time.

He wants to step in close and palm her cheek, lift her head and coax it from her. Right here in the break room. He wants to feel her confidence bloom and blossom under his fingertips as he caresses her face. Touch at it, revel in it, curling her hair behind her ear and lifting her chin. He wants to wrap his arms round her waist and pull her in tight and sharp to kiss her.

He wants to press her up against the wall and hear the moan that still, a year on, haunts the most desirous of his dreams.

"I would have -" She scrunches her lips and shakes her head at herself as if she sounds ridiculous, but no, no she doesn't and it's enough. He nods his understanding and smiles enjoying the slightly awkwardly feeling that they have both agreed it should have been a - date? - thing they went to together.

It's enough for both of them and she jostles him a bit as she rises - Ryan and Espo and murder all waiting for them in the corridor - her eyes shining and bright.

Orientating herself around him, she turns on her heel, catching his eye again. The echo of her silent request that he follow her met with his equally silent agreement.

* * *

They end their theory on a shuddery rush of excitement, Castle eager for more, "We need to get her in here."

"And we will." Beckett nods, her own bantered come down sharper, quicker and more focused than his own, "First thing in the morning."

He stands slowly, still a little sloppy with the zing he gets from their back and forth, and he sighs, his mind cast back to their other problem, the theorizing dance with her still zipping hotly in his blood, he draws out their conversation.

"So..." His eyes dart quickly behind her, checking they're alone, "What are we gonna do?"

She stares at him blankly, "About what?"

He stares back at her just as blankly, like she's lost her mind, how can she _seriously_ have forgotten about the picture in that book? "Well, we have to tell Ryan about Jenny."

Not just Jenny. _Gyrating _ Jenny.

Kate looks genuinely shocked, her eyes opening wide, "What? Why?" But before he can respond in anyway she carries on, blurting out words that leave him standing dead still in the middle of the precinct. "Castle, if we were getting married would you wanna know about all the guys that I've slept with?"

There are so many things about that sentence that he wants to focus on but the only word that comes out of his mouth is, "All?"

She rolls her eyes and her expression screams at him to challenge her, seriously do it, see what happens. Followed by this smile, that tells him it's exactly the reaction she was expecting, "Seriously? You sign women's _chests_ at book readings, you _cannot _ be shocked that I'm not a virgin."

"It's just the word "all" suggests ... a lot." He flashes his eyes at her in hope she understands, flounders a little bit under her scrutiny and tries not to make it worse, but she brought up the subject and now he wants to know. "How many are we talkin'... exactly?"

He narrows his eyes, almost bracing for impact as the words "Wild child" take on a whole new meaning in his head.

Her voice is again full of challenge, slightly incredulous and so much deeper when she replies, "Are you really asking for my number?"

Alright, that does sound unfair and tit for tat, he shrugs, because he thinks they could be working towards a place - in the very near future - where their numbers both go _up_. He challenges her right back with a smirk of his own as he says, "You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

Beckett levels him with a stare that tells him his words have left her thinking of anything_ other_ than numbers and he'll willing show her _anything_ she wants to see. Her tongue darts into the corner of her cheek and she bites on it, trapping back whatever else might spill out and she smirks, her eyes travelling over his body. "Men!" She scoffs, "You all wanna know, but you _don't_ wanna know."

That's not entirely true. Because if it's about her, no matter what it is, he always wants to know and something of that must be showing on his face.

She shakes her head, "Listen, every woman has her secrets, including Jenny, and sometimes for the sake of a relationship it is better _not _ to share."She rolls her eyes and flings her bag over her shoulder, leaving him with a look as he stands in the precinct and watches her leave.

Even though it honestly doesn't matter - it's her he wants, just _her_ not the ones who came before - and even though she's a mystery and watching the way she moves as she strides away is quite pleasant, there is a small part of him that still wants that number.

* * *

He's not looking for her.

Well, he is, but he's trying not to be obvious about it as he soaks up the vibrant and vivid atmosphere. People are milling about the entrance to the little church that is kinda perfect for Ryan and Jenny and he has this weird butterfly feeling in his stomach that takes him by surprise. It's not worry or anxiousness, it feels more like excitement, it could even be envy but he's not going there right now. He's looking for Kate.

"Castle."

He turns at the hushed call of her voice, hearing her bubble away with happiness for their friends and his mouth opens slowly when he sees her.

She almost skips down the stairs towards him, surrounded by flowers and the scent of forever in the air, wearing the simplest of dresses - a silky looking pearl grey that he can almost feel under his fingertips - that just leaves him completely in awe of her. She looks breathtaking and her voice is giddy and light and her smile wide as she clings to her camera.

He has to clench his hands tight at his side to stop and it takes every ounce of self control he has not to just charge at her and kiss that smile right off of her lips.

"You look like a lost puppy." She giggles, shaking her head and almost careening into him, as she bounces to a stop in front of him, still smiling, "Where's your date?"

He shakes himself out of it, letting her exuberance wash over him. "At a Lady GaGa concert with a teenage boy." He raises his hands, "How do I compete with that?"

Her face falls and he feels guilty, "Oh, no. I'm sorry." But then she's light again, almost instantly, like a plan is formulating in her mind.

"Yeah, me too." He sighs as memories of years on the singles circuit rear their ugly heads, "I hate going to weddings alone."

She's staring at his chest, at his tie or the flower he's wearing he's not sure, but her wander over him appreciatively and he tries not to preen under her steady perusal. She starts slowly, lifting her eyes as if she's wondering out loud, "Well maybe we could be... each others plus one?"

"Yeah!" He blurts, eagerly snatching at her suggesting and a little more than relieved that his daughter decided to ditch him, "And avoid the stigma of sitting at the singles table. Yes, that would be nice, I would like that."

He doesn't know why he sounds so stupidly formal, like he's never done this before, but she's back to shy smiles and wide eyed happiness, so he brushes it aside.

The next few minutes are taken up with a frantic, excited Ryan, a quick glimpse of a beautiful looking Jenny and his inability to stop staring at this woman who waves her camera around at her friends and snaps candid photos of their happy day, this version of Kate who he is falling for, harder and faster every second he's with her.

With a joint effort they keep Ryan from seeing Jenny in her dress and send him down the aisle, laughing together as he bounces the whole way, comfortably back in their weird faux parenting role.

Castle turns to her and he can't stop the words rushing out of him, the truth of it taking him by surprise more than he thought it would. "You know, I gotta say, I kinda envy him." He smiles at her, not really sure of what reaction he'll get and not really caring too much because it's true. He wants this feeling of forever, a future and a partner in life a lot more than he realized.

She stares down the aisle, then back to him and shrugs as if it's simple - though the slight squeak of her voice gives her away - "Well, you knows, Castle? Maybe third time's the charm."

He can't help it, he's staring again, "Yeah, could be."

She gestures as if it's that easy, as if it's all just waiting for him, her words hopeful and light and she's not wrong, he thinks as he offers her his arm, she could in fact be very, very _right_.

"Shall we?"

"Yeah." She dives forwards eagerly and links her arm through his elbow and lets him guide her through the heavy wooden doors. He feels her fingers clench at his bicep when the bells toll and he presses his hand into the front of his shirt to keep from twining their fingers together.

"I don't think we should be sitting there anyway." She says quietly as they walk down the aisle towards their seats. Espo gestures with a nod of his head and Castle turns, holding out his arm for Kate to slide into the pew on Ryan's side, just behind Lanie.

"Sitting where?" He asks, feeling like an idiot because Espo just indicated this is where they should be, but Kate was holding his arm and walking down the aisle with him and smiling all the way...not much else is making sense right now.

"At the _singles_ table." She whispers meaningfully, smiling and reminding him of their earlier conversation before stepping right past him and taking her seat.

He gapes for a few seconds and then plonks himself down at her side, jostling her in the process. She laughs, a happy confident tease that, along with her words, set off another wave of butterflies in his stomach.

* * *

When he hands her a tissue in silence she thumbs the tears away from under her eyes and turns to him to glare. "Don't laugh." She threatens but he shakes his head. He wouldn't dream of it.

"You cried when he proposed, you know?" He whispers quietly.

"It was sweet." She defends even though he can tell by the look on her face she knows she doesn't need to.

"Big." He whispers again, his eyes dropping from the beautiful way her eyes sparkle in the light of the church, down to her lips as she wets them.

"And intimate." She agrees, her eyes lingering over his face before she threads her fingers together with his, swallowing thickly as Ryan and Jenny finally kiss.

* * *

They make plans to share a cab with Espo and Lanie, everyone carefully avoiding the pink smudges over Kate's cheeks and the bright sparkle of her eyes that give away that she was crying. Lanie links arms with Castle and pulls him ahead, forcing him to turn to watch as Espo nudges Kate, a teasing gesture that falls away when she mimes Espo wiping his eyes too.

Busted.

Castle laughs, his eyes only for the mocking Beckett and the happiness that bubbles out of her. He feels the tug on his arm, more than once before he can give up staring and when he finally turns he's met with the knowing smile of the M.E.

Lanie's looking at him like she can see straight through him, tilting her head as if she's got him under a microscope and the traces of Kate are all over his face, written in bright indelible ink that she can read right off his skin. "You good?"

It's a loaded question, weighted down with about four years of tension and suspicions and her arm threads through his as they exit the church. "Yeah." He deflects quickly, "It was a beautiful ceremony."

"Mmhmm."

Castle gulps at the tone of her voice, the idea of sharing a cab with this woman feeling somewhat like being trapped in interrogation - not with a fox in a box but more like a mama bear protecting her cub - and he glances over his shoulder for help. Espo and Kate are still bringing up the rear, nudging each other and chatting, and it's not until cousins and faux dates make noises of protest in the background that Castle senses a chance for escape.

Ushering the four of them ahead gallantly - glad when Kate stands off to one side at his back, waiting - he lets the unorthodox and somewhat awkward little group steal their transport.

He gives them a happy wave of farewell, quite proud of his own sneakiness but stops dead on the spot when he turns and catches Lanie giving Beckett a warning flash of her eyes. She mouths something that makes their eyes dart to him, a faint blush creeping up Kate's neck, the grey of the dress enhancing every color that touches her skin, setting it in bright and glorious contrast.

He freezes, open mouthed and trying to look innocent, not knowing which woman to turn to first.

Lanie let's out a noise of disgust or annoyance and she smiles, calling out something like_ take care of my girl _ or _get her there safely _ that makes him wonder if she knows.

Just like that could she know? Just those simple words and the way she looks at them, absorbs the look that passes between them. She knows?

His whole body swerves towards Kate for confirmation or denial and her cheeks are pink, pinker than before, her fingers toying endlessly with the camera she refuses to relinquish - he hates to think how many photos she has of him making weird faces because she does just turn and_ flash_ the thing in your face without warning - but she's smiling, giving nothing away.

He doesn't know what to make of that and, when they end up, alone, standing together in front of the church, watching the departure of their friends he finds he doesn't honestly care.

"We could walk." He suggest, and she opens her mouth to tell him it's too far but he's already thought about that, wanting to delay the moment they are surrounded by a throng of over excited wedding guests. "Walk, then a cab? Just a little while." He offers, extending his arm, just as he did when they walked down the aisle.

She looks at it for a moment, committing herself to something and her head dips forwards, bright Sunday sunshine blowing through the strands of her hair and she smiles, reaching for him and letting him pull her into his side.

* * *

They arrive eventually, find their seats and she disappears asking him to stay put.

When she reappears a few minutes later she sets the plate of food down in front of him and laughs when his head snaps up in shock. She brought him something to eat, here at the wedding, reminding him that their arrangement is still on.

"Does this count as dinner?" He queries, cocking his head to one side and slightly bemused by the idea of her setting out to fix him a plate.

"I brought you the food, didn't I?" She arches an eyebrow in challenge and drops down next to him, crossing her knees and reaching for her wine glass. She clears her throat reminding him to look away from the long exposed line of her legs - to stop wondering if they feel as creamy to the touch as they look.

"You did say you couldn't promise to cook _every _ time." He acknowledges, when his eyes finally lift, reaching for his own glass because his mouth suddenly feels parched. "Hey." He shakes his head and mimics her, clearing his throat to get her attention when she lifts her glass to her lips without clinking - for shame.

"To good food and better company." He angles his drink towards her, watching the way the liquid shimmers sideways, waiting.

Taking a deep breath and letting her eyes scan the room, she meets his glass with the firm clink of her own, "To celebrating life-" He smiles widely, the words and meaning and everything about her making him feel light headed before he has even taken a sip, "- in the best possible way."

* * *

They watch Ryan and Jenny twirl around the dance floor and she claps, he's also pretty certain she brings her fingers up to her mouth and wolf whistles them too and he can do nothing but stare at her in shock, her happiness is catching and making him laugh.

They toast the newly-weds and his eyes never leave her face, even when she lifts her glass towards her friends, giddy and beaming.

Her fingers must shake a bit and when she lifts the champagne flute to her lips to sip it, she's smiling so widely that she has to swipe away an errant drop of alcohol that spills out and escapes over her chin. She turns to him with her fingers still touching the crease of her smile and she laughs again - this time at herself. But he doesn't smile back, he can't. His eyes linger hotly on the wet smudge of her mouth and he would give _anything_, wants so badly, to taste the stain of champagne and happiness on her lips.

Her smile falls away and she breathes his name, "Castle." Her eyes mirroring his as they hone in on him, as if she too is picturing stealing that kiss, getting lost in it and ravaged by all at the same time. Her tone screams _we shouldn't_ but her eyes and the way her body drifts into his belay her voice.

Music starts somewhere in the room, an invitation to everyone else that they should join the Bride and Groom on the dance floor. Couples around them move off until they are left alone on the edge, with their eyes locked firmly on each other, the melody lifting, the music getting louder and louder.

"Dance with me." He demands, holding out his hand and needing to feel her body pressed against his own, no more tentativeness, just the two of them and the music. He waits, his hand extended, and he will leave it there all night if he has to. He wants to feel her close again and he will wait, wait until she's ready, but that doesn't mean he won't prod her just a bit.

But he doesn't have to.

With focus on nothing but him, her chest rising and falling so fast, Kate slips her fingers into the waiting warmth of his hand and she nods.

* * *

The music changes almost the moment his feet touch the dance floor, the soft strains of jazz that she comes alive at disappearing and replaced instead by what can only be - blech - a boy band.

Kate laughs when he turns away. "Oh no you don't, you said dance."

"Not to this." He has to shout a bit, an obnoxious drum beat nearly drowning him out.

She squints at him, flings her arm out and just comes alive at the music, there's nothing for it, even the weird little hand movements and hip wiggles are inviting, he has to join her.

Castle catches her hand, spins her on the spot and hopes the next song is slower and more romantic than this one.

It's not.

* * *

"I can't believe you know the words." He laughs and it's the third verse she's mimed through, humming in his ear when he brings her close enough to hear.

"It's a good song."

"Ha."

"It's romantic." She defends and their hips brush, his hand at the small of her back pulling her in to sway her, sharp and quick before he and flings her out and away from him again.

"It is not." He growls, and she goes easily, her feet in time and hair flying wildly around her as she spins.

"You're a writer, are you seriously telling me the subtext of the lyrics is going over your head?" She grins when he scoffs, indignant and catching her hand to yank her in close.

"No." He grunts, sounding like a petulant child and not giving a damn. He pulls hard and she slams into his chest, grunting in surprise, catching herself on the front of his shirt.

"Admit it." She says, with a quiet giggle that, with the roar of the music and happy chatter around them, he almost misses. Their eyes catch and hold, a flickering flame igniting between them and she's pulling away as the song ends, soft jazz notes _finally_ filling the room, but he won't let her go.

"Kate." Castle holds her in place, stopping her retreat, "I admit it."

"You do?" Her hand drifts to his shoulder and his slips lower, the brush of his fingers just high enough to be decent but the splay of the digits making her gasp when he sweeps across the high curve of her ass.

She glares, or tries to, the toe of her heel pressing into his foot in warning and he pulls her into him slowly, lets their hips collide and making her lean back as his fingers run down her arm to take her hand.

Her chest is pressed against his and her breathing is rapid and out of sync with his own, their hearts both racing and the arch of her back - so she can keep her eyes trained on his face - makes the connection of their lower halves shockingly intimate.

"I do." He agrees, their location and the day giving the words far more weight than he intended, but he doesn't look away. His eyes stay trained on her face, on the subtlest reaction even as the music lifts and he takes her with him.

Castle leads them expertly from one corner of the dance floor to the next and then the next, never once looking away. Half way through their second rotation her fingers drift and skim the collar at the back of his neck, her fingertips flirting with the border of silk and skin. His step stutters but doesn't falter and he watches her eyes blink languidly as if mesmerized by the music and the sweep of her own fingers over his warm skin.

* * *

The alcohol is flowing freely and their little group is getting rowdier by the minute. They tease each other mercilessly, tricking each other into dances, and Espo throws down a challenge. Can she rap?

She rolls her eyes, but she's on her feet before he's even blinked and dammit where did he put his phone? He needs a video of this ASAP.

* * *

A group of Jenny's sorority girls surround him and he's not sure how many hands they have but it's about as close to being groped by an octopus as he ever wants to come, before Beckett steps in.

Her hand lands on his chest and her eyes roam over him heatedly, she laughs. Her body coiling around him like a snake, she intervenes and sees the babbling women off with a finite skill that he finds in equal parts terrifying and ridiculously sexy.

Kate pulls him with her, his tie tight in her hand to make sure he follows and his time when they dance her arms are up around his neck, the sway of her hips anything but innocent.

* * *

He wants to take her home, wants to be the one to deliver her to her doorstep like a gentleman, because, after all, _technically_ she is his date and she was the one who said they shouldn't be sitting at the singles table.

They're here together and Castle wants to take her home, kiss her goodnight at the door and wait with eager anticipation to see if she will invite him.

He wants to, craves it in fact, but there's an argument raging on the other side of the room and thankfully Ryan and Jenny have departed so they miss it. It's just the hardcore wedding groupies left behind - and them of course - and he can see exactly how this is going to play out before they even make it halfway across the floor.

"I got Lanie." Kate says her eyes apologetic and hopeful at the same time. He nods his understanding, making a beeline for the hurt looking Esposito.

"I'll get him in cab." Castle agrees, his hand at her back as she leads the way and he shadows her.

She stops and turns, "Can you-?"

"I'll make sure he gets home and then I'll head back to the loft. It's pretty late." He can't help the disappointment that flares through the words, this is not how he saw the night ending.

She looks relieved and her hand lands on the lapel of his jacket, the one she hasn't really kept her eyes off all evening, her fingers stroking softly against his chest. "Thank you, Castle."

"Until tomorrow?" He can's help it sounding like a question, the suddenness of their separation striking at him harder than he would like to admit.

She smiles, walking backwards, her eyes alight with it still - the magic of their friends wedding playing out over her skin - and she raises an eyebrow, "Goodnight, Castle" before turning on her heel and leaving him behind, watching her walk away yet again.

* * *

A short while later and he's home, the emptiness of the loft meeting him with darkness and silence and he kicks off his shoes before ditching his jacket, unbuttoning his collar and trying to relax.

Disappointment is hot in his veins - he didn't even get to say a proper goodnight and he reaches for his cell, staring at the screen wondering if he should call and check in, see how Lanie fared? It's a good enough excuse surely, but before he can get beyond that thought there is noise at his door and his heart leaps in his chest.

* * *

He opens the door on the fourth knock, trying not to get his hopes up - but ha, yeah right, they are already sky high. He tugs at his neck, pulls the tie loose and swings himself bodily around, pulling the door after him - stunned and frozen in place when he's confronted by Kate.

She's leaning against the door frame, pulling off her heels and when she sees him she smiles widely, her eyes not quite meeting his but trained on his lips and her cheeks dark spots of red.

"Beckett?" He swallows, hears the thunk of her shoes hit the floor and he steps backwards, words jumping out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop them, "What do you want?"

She breathes the word, coming for him as she does, "Dessert."

Then her body is plastered to his, her fingers in his hair and moist breath tickling over his lips before her mouth opens against his, hot and demanding, thorough and claiming.

Somewhere behind her he hears the door slam as she kicks it shut.

* * *

**A/N:** There will be a separate M addition to this story appearing on my page in the next day or two. Thank you for reading :)


	7. The first breakfast

**AN:** Between this chapter and the one before it there is an M insert that can be found as a separate story entitled "Those who wait."

There will be another chapter added to that story that takes place in the middle of this chapter. If you don't like M stories all you need to know is that they had sex and they both quite liked it. ;)

Thank you for reading and reviewing, and for your patience as I attempt to complete this story :)

* * *

He sneaks out of the bedroom a little while after she falls asleep, his body humming and exhausted yet ridiculously awake considering everything that has happened in the last twenty four hours.

He stands in the doorway to wrap a robe around himself and watch her, just for a few minutes, before he manages to pull himself away.

Kate beckett is asleep in his bed and it feels like a miracle.

Or a dream.

The dark shadow of night casts her in an opaque obsidian blur against the stark white of his sheets, curled up and content not to move for a good long while and he can't believe it. He'd be happy to stand here all night and watch her sleep, but he's exhausted too. Worn out in the best possible way, and though his mind is still running a mile a minute his body wants nothing more than to be flopping down at her side in the comfy confines of his deliciously detective-warmed bed.

The backs of his knees feel numb - that's new - and his jaw aches for reasons he will be gloating about for days to come, but there is a looseness to him so unexpected that he hadn't even realized he'd been that tightly wound, that his worry for her had settled so deeply into his bones that he had started to seize up without even noticing - and now it was gone?

No, not gone, lessened. Having her close like this and being able to reach out and touch her - it helps.

Castle slips through the door with a sigh and migrates the darkness of his living room with ease and familiarity.

He finds her dress with his feet and bends to retrieve it, letting out a groan when his back protests and the numbness in his knees makes itself known again - god, she wore him out- and a smile breaks free that he cannot contain.

Her bra is still on the table so he snags it quick and he's just about to head back to the bedroom - and the waiting wonder of the woman in his bed - when he remembers she kicked off her shoes at the front door.

He isn't sure how much of this she - or he for that matter - will want to deal with in the morning, but he most definitely doesn't want his mother and daughter stumbling home any minute and finding women's clothing strewn about the loft.

There is a conversation that needs to be had and he doesn't want it to happen as she scurries manically around his home looking for her clothes. He doesn't even necessarily want to have to have it in the morning, but at some point it will happen, and he wants no excuses when it does.

With the door clicking closed softly behind him and his pile of misbegotten items balled in his hands - her shoes balancing precariously on top - Castle makes his way back to the bedroom. The thought of her there, waiting for him, churning his stomach with fresh and new waves of anticipation.

Worry and want at war with each other within him.

If he sneaks back in and wakes her up - her curled up there in his bed like she belongs in it - he runs the risk of her going home, of watching her eyes flare in panic, of a change of heart that would devastate him and after they've finally gotten this far, Castle's not sure he could take that.

They deserve a chance at this - this new fledgling beginning they are reaching for - and the vicious pounding of his heart as he nears his bedroom door reminds him how much he's wanted this and her and whatever they are becoming for a very, very long time. He loves her, so, if she looks like she's about to run, he'll just have to convince her to stay.

He drops her shoes next to his at the door and leaves her clothes in a tangled mess on the chair, her bra and dress anyway, but he's not entirely sure what happened to her underwear. The last time he saw them, they were shimmying down her legs and the only thought in his head involved getting his hands - and mouth - on her.

Castle scans the dark room and quickly realises it's no use, and that he honestly doesn't care, all he really wants to do is climb back into bed with Kate, snuggle into her side and fall asleep, wrap his arm around her waist and let his whispered breath lull them both into silence.

His eyes drift over her and he finds she's moved in his absence, her hand stretched out in the space he left when he got up.

The fingers of Kate's right hand are balled up tight in a fist on his side of the bed and he startles, that thundering beat of his heart increasing again, wondering if she was reaching for him. God, he hopes she was, and the truth of that rushes over him, making his fingers feel fat and uncoordinated as they unknot and cast aside his robe.

He drops a knee to the bed and pauses to watch the rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin seems to glow in the darkness of the room and, like a moth to a flame, he lets the warmth and presence of her pull him in.

Climbing into the bed, cold and tired and naked, sliding under the sheets until his head touches the pillow, trying not to disturb her as he does, Castle cannot pull his eyes away from her.

Her body stirs regardless of his slow and thoughtful movements, some instinctive awareness of him kicking in and the hand that he likes to think was reaching for him opens over his heart as she rolls towards him.

She's warm and sleepy and not really with it but the contact of her body makes him shiver.

"Cold?" Her voice catches him off guard but when he turns her eyes are still squeezed shut, her whole body relaxed as if she's still asleep.

"Yeah." He barely breathes the word, just incase she didn't speak and it was his imagination, but no sooner has it left his mouth than he feels the brush of her foot along his calf. Her knee collides with his, their thighs brushing and the full warmth of her naked body presses down his entire right side.

He's not sure what to do with his arms, where to put himself, how to keep her close and not drive her away and he feels pathetic for even entertaining the thought.

So he casts it aside.

Instead he gives up and does as he's wanted to do for longer than he can even remember, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his chest and curling as he does, his head dropping down on top of her own. Starting as he means to go on.

He doesn't want to be tentative with her, he wants to be able to reach out and pull her in to kiss the top of her head, so he does, and Castle lets his eyes close finally in the darkness, his decision and the soft, gentle warmth of her body in his arms letting a new kind of peace wash over him.

"Mmmm." She murmurs, with her lips against his skin, her hand rising slowly and clumsily mapping over his chest, curling under his jaw, "Where'd'u go?" Her lashes flutter over his chest but never quite part enough for her eyes to open.

"Nowhere." It doesn't matter, nothing matters but this.

Her fingers drift, one corner of her mouth lifting almost in sleep, and the word slips from her lips quietly, truthfully. "Good."

* * *

The idea comes to him a little before dawn, bringing lightness to the heavy satiated weight of his limbs. He feels like he's been steamrolled into the mattress and when awareness first breaks through the heavy barrier of sleep there's not much he can do beyond tilt his head to the side and stare at her.

She is gorgeous, breathtaking, Kate Beckett - still here - spread eagled and kinda unconscious in his bed.

Snoring.

Little rasping sounds that barely qualify but immediately go into the bank of things he never knew but will never forget.

Her chest lifts and he watches the puckered pink edge of her scar shimmer in the light. It's a lot longer than he ever imagined, brighter and more raw than he had expected and it fits inside the curve of his hand almost perfectly.

When he was holding her last night he felt like he was protecting her with his touch, as if he was always meant to do it. His hand splaying down her side, chasing ripples of pleasure across her skin as the warm and tender caress of his palm cocooned around her scar.

The new skin and the old, and the healing in between, painting her side in a rainbow of survival. It flares under every movement, it's vivid as she breathes. He likes that.

Loves it in fact, and he can still taste that part of her body in his mouth. Castle can feel the change in texture of her skin against his lips and tongue as if he was kissing his way along her side this very moment.

Maybe he should be.

But she's still asleep and he's loathe to wake her when she looks so un-Beckett-like. Or maybe she is just Kate in the extreme - the very essence of the woman he loves. He's not sure and he likes not knowing, that extra tug of mystery making him yearn to roll her over and find out a little more.

But she's asleep...and naked.

Naked! Because apparently that's how she sleeps. All glorious long limbs and stretching toes, seeking fingers, curling shoulders, slender hips and her ass. Her ass which is a thing of beauty in and of itself that he could quite happily stare at all day. He has done that actually, he remembers as his eyes drift south.

His vision trips over every vertebra of her spine, relishing the evident looseness of her muscles and the taut curve of her body, so sexy and inviting and welcoming that he can't drag his eyes away.

She's naked because that's how she sleeps, or at least that's how she sleeps in his bed after a night spent getting to know each others bodies, with her hair hiding half her face and fingers curled up under the pillows and the fact that neither of them could muster the energy to get dressed when they were done, or even talk to each other beyond her muttered request.

And his brain is running a mile a minute, hopped up on the sugar sweet memory of her kiss and that's why it comes at him now, in the confines of the bed he's sharing with her at last, her words and her idea springing up at the back of his mind as if it was all his own.

If he can convince her that it was, all the better.

She snuffles and he rolls onto his side, into the small space she doesn't occupy and he smiles, way down deep to the farthest darkest reaches, he smiles and watches her in his bed.

_His_ bed.

Something ridiculously male growls - maybe purrs - at that fact. The smell of her in his sheets, the heat that emanates from her making him feel proud and smug and so grateful that he's the one here with her. That she chose him.

She's _extraordinary_ and he thinks together they have the chance to be _magnificent_.

She's a blanket hog. Or she was until they got so wrapped up in it that it ended up on the floor in a messy bundle and with that gone she had no choice but to commandeer the sheets.

She shared with him when he stumbled back into her arms in the early hours, but once she was finally and fully asleep again, she took over like she owned the place.

She's dominant in bed, not just in control when she flipped them or pressed him down to have her way with him - he grins. Not just with her mouth and her teeth and her lips all demanding him to give her more, more, more. No, she's dominant in her presence, in her existence, as if she dares him to deny she's here.

He likes that, he likes that a lot. That in her sleep she's staking a claim and owning her place in his bed.

She's so slender and introverted that to see her unfurled across the mattress like it belongs to her sets alight the dull smoulder in his abdomen. It's immediate and instantaneous how much he loves having her here.

She takes up the wide bed with relish and she's a pillow hog too. The one usually under his head was at one point down under her hips, lifting her higher and driving him deeper, and now it's at the end of the bed supporting the weight of her foot.

She's a bed hog in general, a beautiful, sublime, greedy bed hog and she's spread out diagonally taking up all the space with one leg thrown casually across his because she needs just a little bit more room to make herself comfortable.

And to keep him close. Staking that claim.

She's got most of the sheet tucked underneath her, with one corner flaring out over her backside and his eyes fall there, to that swell of satiny smooth flesh, as he stares at the dent of her tailbone he lathed with his tongue and the smatter of stain like bruised kisses that mark her hip, as the sun rises and he watches the early morning rays race each other up the backs of her legs - the idea comes to him.

One she herself planted in his mind.

_Breakfast_.

* * *

He lays there for another hour at least - though in truth it feels like seconds - watching the dawn paint her skin in tones of amber, gold and cream, wanting to taste the sun that pours itself into the dip at the small of her back.

Castle settles instead for letting his fingers spill into the light and ripple out over her skin, he's waited as long as he can to share this morning with her, to share the knowledge of last night and how well they fit together and his heart pounds painfully with the effort to resist her any longer.

He can't, he doesn't want to, so why should he?

He opens his hand at the small of her back, lets the wide width of his palm dwarf her silken skin and his thumb sweeps back and forth, throwing him back in time to the light brush of his fingers over her skin when he was inspecting an injection sight.

Then he let himself get lost in the briefest brush of her flesh, now he can revel in it, in the way her muscles are lithe and awakening just under the surface. The pliability of her body astounds him and his hands flare out, opening wide over the lowest span of her spine, over her hip and across the back of her thigh.

She fills his hands and he hears her hum, notes the change and shift in her body, the way she presses her knees into the mattress when his fingertips dig into her supple legs, massaging low before returning to the curve of her back where she lays facing away from him.

She moves slowly, so that he knows she's awake - that she's been that way for a while just drifting in the silence - turning her head on the pillow but refusing to move the rest of her body.

He presses his nose to the curve of her shoulder blade and inhales slowly, whispers her name and uses the pad of his thumb to trail the path of her spine, touching on each vertebra as if he's saying good morning to each one on his journey to wake her up.

He's greeted by her naked shoulder, an abundance of her hair that she haphazardly sweeps to one side and the sleepy smile on her lips, all before she opens her eyes and hums at the movement of his fingers.

His mind is battling with wanting to surge into her, to kiss and touch and reenact a little of last night and with wanting to move slowly and with reverence, to memorize every little detail of their first morning together.

"Don't stop." She breathes quietly and her eyes open, making his decision for him and catching his gaze in a blaze of unexpected wanting fire, the tease of his touch having stilled as he watched her.

She moans when his fingers press into her muscles a little harder, digging in and surging out, her eyelids flutter when the tips of his fingers trail her rib and her chest stutters on a barely there, early morning laugh.

"You're ticklish?" He asks, almost disbelieving, delighted at the same time to find these things out about her. The dark and the light, the stupid silly little inanities of knowing and being in love with someone.

She's ticklish.

She shakes her head and pouts her lips, but he repeats the movement and is rewarded with a peel of laughter.

"Liar."

It's an accusation, a challenge, and she rolls onto her back, forgetting the sheet and pulling him over her instead, using his body to keep her warm, to cover her, one arm around his neck when she arches her back and meets his lips.

He expects a kiss but instead she holds him close, her eyes locked with his own, the pupils contracting slowly in the muted light, then she breathes against his mouth, catching his skin with the wet press of her own.

"Prove it."

* * *

She's panting with laughter, giggly silly happy sounds that tumble around them and she's hiding from him behind a pillow, her face scrunched up and the noises muffled when his mouth swallows up a stretch of skin low on her abdomen. He lays his tongue over her in a hot sweet sweep and she comes up off the bed in another guffaw of laughter, a throaty chuckle and her feet kicking out at him, trying to get away.

Her muscles jump in a delicious tease of movement that he wants to replay over and over again, but Castle holds her in place with the promise not to do it again, and she stops just in time, her body a live wire of awareness and her foot narrowly missing his shoulder.

"I think I win." Castle rests his chin on her hipbone and looks up, watching her chase the last of the laughter away and settle back on the pillows, watching him.

"Really?" Her eyes trail over his face and she moves so fast that he could swear she's little more than a blur, and then she's over him, pinning his hands to the bed and staring down at him. The sheet stays tangled somewhere between them and her fingers flare out over his ribs, testing and getting no reaction.

Her eyes narrow as he smirks and she bites her bottom lip, changes direction and skates her fingertips across his stomach.

He flinches, meeps, and just like that he's done for.

"Aha!" She exclaims, laughing again, ever the detective, before she teases him mercilessly with the tickle of her touch.

* * *

"So, Breakfast?" He breathes when he finally regains the ability, his hands bracing her hips, moving over her back as her own maps his chest, but she's climbing off him, her head shaking and one foot propelling off the bed as she moves through the room.

Panic like a fist grips him hard, but she's turning, her eyes over her shoulder finding his as she walks away from him naked and she laugh, laughs at the way he stares at her open mouthed.

"You said I owed you -"

"Shower first." She states, turning to call him again over her shoulder, only to find him already there, crowding her, touching and calming, claiming and adoring all at once, his hands banding around her waist as he growls into her neck in agreement.

He pushes her through the door and into his bathroom, letting it thud shut behind them.

Yes, shower first.

* * *

He slips out of the bathroom, watching her pink faced and chest still heaving, water trickling over her skin as she shoos him out to wash her hair and actually get clean.

He chuckles that it's not possible given what they just did and she rolls her eyes and if it wasn't for the glass door sliding shut and narrowly skimming his nose, he would have kissed that look right off her face.

Castle hunts down towels, and leaves her two, one for her hair and one for her body - reigning in the urge to leave a hand towel that will cover nothing of her up - and being the good host his mother raised him to be.

He speedily makes the bed, throws her clothes onto her side and freezes at that thought - her side - trying to stop the part of him that is racing ahead far too fast, instead of staying in the moment.

He checks his phone, finds a message from his mother and glances at the clock - they have about three hours before both Martha and Alexis are due to return and he grins, hears the water shut off and pulls his pajama bottoms up forgoing a shirt in favor of starting her breakfast and keeping her here just a little longer.

Her hair is wet and the long curling strands are sticking to the front of the white shirt she's wearing. His shirt that he has no idea how she found, other than with a good rummage through his closet when he left the bedroom.

Each long strand leaves a little pool of water at it's tip and each pool of water spreads out into the cotton making the white material almost see through.

She could have put on her dress and she didn't telling him she's in no rush to leave and again that sets off happy bursts of pleasure through his mind and body.

When their eyes catch as she emerges from the bedroom, she hesitates for a beat - her stride faltering as if she's taken a step too far - and then she smiles at him, sweet and shy, her feet moving fast.

"Hi." Her voice is low and he's about to ditch the food and leap the counter, but she slides onto a stool opposite him and reaches for the mug he put out for her, only to hesitate and change direction.

She steals his instead - right out of his hands - breathing in the steam that rises from coffee and taking a long deep drag of the hot liquid, her eyes falling shut in a look of pleasure that he is coming to know intimately and he smiles, watching her contentedly.

She stands there, with her hands wrapped around a mug that she just pulled from his fingers, and her head tilted towards him in challenge, naked except for his white shirt and the patches of bare skin that are appearing through it - and everything about her is screaming if you like what you see, come over here and do something about it.

"Breakfast should be a thing." He says softly, turning from her and concentrating instead on his white knuckled grip on the spatula as he fluffs the eggs. She stays silent so he gives in, turning to catch her slipping a piece of fruit past her lips and chewing it with relish.

Her eyes dart to his, drop to his hands and fly back up again as if he's caught her doing something she shouldn't be.

Oh, checking him out? He can live with that, and that growly, purring creature in his chest seems thoroughly delighted with it.

"I think it's been a _thing_ for a while now, Castle." She smiles, stealing a slice of strawberry from the bowl in front of her and inspecting the contents of the rest. "Unless you're suggesting we let others in on our secret."

Her eyes light up with sarcasm and mischief, and something else that he plans on coming back to later, more pressing matters at hand for the moment.

"You have dinners." He moves the pan and wipes his hands, turning to face her, her elbows on the counter as she leans across and steals another segment of fruit - a blueberry this time - and pops it into her mouth. "I figured I could have breakfast?"

"So eight breakfasts, one for each time I saved _your_ life?" Her face gives nothing away, but her eyes are dancing, bright and shiny orbs of contemplation that hold his focus.

He shrugs as if it's nothing, throws in a little tease to put her at ease - if she's not already. "It's the least I could do, given how _generous_ you've been."

Kate's head snaps up as she catches the double meaning to his words and she tips her head forwards, her fingers lingering over her lips, removing the smear of fruit that he wants to lick off, "A little presumptuous don't you think?"

His eyes dart straight to hers in shock and there is a smile wide on her face, a tease that he cannot resist. Castle steps around the counter, tangles his fingers at her waist and pulls her towards him with a sharp jolt.

"Says the woman in my kitchen wearing nothing but my shirt." His voice is a growl, he hears it himself and likes the way she's the one that pulls that sound out of him, just with her touch and proximity.

"Wrong again, Castle." She smiles into his lips, and between them he feels the tangle of her fingers over the buttons of his shirt, "Says the woman standing in your kitchen wearing _nothing_!"

He feels the ghost like tickle of material land in a pool at his feet, ignores it in favor of the feel of her body against his own.

"How long do we have?" She asks her fingers tracing around the edge of his pajamas, her head tipping to one side and her eyes large and open and far too innocent for the thoughts he can practically see bursting to life in that chocolate haze.

"About an hour." He breathes, almost regretfully.

"Hmm." She rocks onto her tiptoes, slips her thumbs under the elastic band at his hips and tugs him in tight, "Feed me next time?"

"Oh, _next time_?" His eyes dance and his heart races with happiness, his head dizzy with with relief and joy both. "Now, who's being presumptuous, detective?"

Her eyes narrow and her mouth opens and he steals whatever sarcastic retort she had planned right from the tip of her tongue with the confident slide of his own, and with one arm around her waist, he lifts her off her feet, swallows her shocked laughter and walks them both towards his bedroom.

* * *

He pulls the zip up for her as she holds her hair out of his way, and he can't help but press a kiss to the top of her neck just to feel her inhale sharply and lean back into him.

"Are you wearing anything under that dress?" He asks, his fingers snaking out over the grey silk she wore to the Ryan's wedding, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it.

"You just watched me get dressed." She turns in his arms, settles her lips to his ear and whispers, "pervert" like it's a term of endearment - coming from her it might be.

He laughs, "I must have amnesia." He locks his fingers at her waist, hers mimicking his as they entwine at the back of his neck and she leans back to watch him, her weight pressing into the solid grip of his palms.

"Mmhmm. Maybe that's why you conveniently _misplaced_ my underwear." The growly challenge of her voice sends sparks of fire through his stomach, and he grips her harder.

"No, thats for later."

Her bark of startled laughter is beautiful and loud, echoing around his bedroom leaving a memory here that he will replay long after she's left. She's making it an impossible task to let her slip out of his arms, but the way she mutters ew under her breath and pushes him away from her gives him no choice but to shimmy around her and block the door.

Kate scrunches her lips, slips her heels back on and rises up to full Beckett height once more, her hands landing on her hips, "You know I could take you right?"

"Anyway you want." He promises and his voice bleeds through with more meaning than he meant, his tease giving way to his desires and her smile, slipping away.

The silence lingers, thickens and swells into something intense between them. They say so much in silence, or with the meeting of their eyes for the briefest second but some unknown force drives them both to reassure the other, themselves maybe and to speak at the same time.

"You could stay but I don't want you to suffer my mother -"

"I'm meeting my Dad otherwise I'd -" Her words fall away, and she smiles at him, shakes her head and walks into his arms, her forehead pressing into his. "Next time." She promises, holding onto him so tight he can almost feel her willing herself to leave.

"Next time." He agrees, wrapping her up tight against him before reaching for her hand and tugging her towards the door.

"You are going home before you meet your Dad right?" He has to ask, refusing to laugh when her faces morphs somewhere between disgust and shock and the urge to smile, "Speaking as a father I-"

She interrupts him with a kiss, "Yes, I'm going home to shower first, Castle, jeeze." She knocks his head with the side of her own and steps back.

"And put on underwear." He lets his hands roam, making a point.

"Yes!" She bats his hands away, "And put on underwear."

He laughs and kisses her goodbye, again, a soft sweet thing that leaves them both a little breathless, and he watches her until she steps into the elevator, her fingers raising in the tiniest wave. On the spur of the moment he blows her a kiss and she shakes her head and lets her hair spill forwards to hide the pink blush that races across her cheeks.

She laughs, and he stands firm until she's out of sight, then his knees wobble and he lets the door thud shut as he leans into it, his smile wide and pride rushing through his chest.

Kate Beckett just left his home - and his bed - and the thought of _next time_ lingers like the scent of_ her_ over his skin, heavy in the air like a promise.


End file.
